


knock knock, i love you

by beautlouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hot Cocoa Date, Knock-Knock Jokes, M/M, No Angst, Rimming, Spooning, Virgin Harry, a lot of sappiness and a lot of sex basically, if you're craving a cavity this is your fic, like absolutely nothing bad happens, no cliffhanger, the only plot is harry and louis falling in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautlouis/pseuds/beautlouis
Summary: “Well,” Louis says, searching for something to relieve this tension. “I think if a bloke gets kicked out of his stats exam for a knock knock joke, he deserves to hear the punchline, yeah?” “Oh!” Harry says, beaming. “I forgot where we left off, what was it again?” He looks overjoyed to be exchanging a shit joke. “Ah, you said knock knock, then I said who’s there, and then you said Noah,” Louis supplies helpfully. He hates that he's actually curious about the rest of the joke. “So, Noah who?”“Oh,” says Harry, in a much different tone, dragging out the syllable. He looks bashful now. Louis cannot keep up with this boy, it's going to kill him. “Right, well.” He shuffles his feet. Fuck, what kind of knock knock joke gets a boy nervous? “Noah a good place we could get something to eat?” [Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a coffee date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, okay. So it's been close to two years since I last posted a fic! 
> 
> This fic is a bit of a remix of the original prompt because unlike my earlier fics there's more involved than just sex (though, like, I am a smut writer and a significant portion of the fic is smut). The only plot is Harry and Louis falling in love because given the circumstances of real life I couldn't bear to put them through anything except happy times in my fic. 
> 
> Note: In an effort to keep to the original prompt, Harry and Louis are their 20 and 22 year old selves, and have all the tattoos they had at those ages except their complementary tatts because it's a pet peeve of mine when they meet in AUs and already have those. They'll get those later!
> 
> Also, this is my first AU, my first chaptered fic, and my first fic that isn't just one long extended sex scene. It's not particularly original, it's basically Just Another College AU, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! It's meant to be a fluffy, smutty, cheesy feel-good fic. Enjoy!

In truth, Louis’ still not sure why he's taking statistics. He remembers the counselor rambling on about degrees and course requirements and “statistics is the math course you'll need to have if you're going for any arts degree” . Which was apparently supposed to make _sense_ , but Louis thinks it's a load of rubbish that an aspiring drama teacher should be sitting through a semester’s worth of maths, horribly confusing, useless _maths_.

And anyway the worst part is the boy he sits next to each class. It's a smaller classroom, and the tables are older, wider ones, that sit two per instead of the tiny, compact individual desks in all the lecture halls. Louis would normally appreciate the larger space, provided he had a _decent_ desk partner. But no, no, no. Louis’ sat next to a...nuisance. A nuisance with wildly curly hair, long legs that _always fucking bump into Louis’ calves_ , fumbling hands that inevitably drop pencils multiple times each class, _and_ he chews gum; constantly, loudly, like a cow eats grass.

The boy is pretty too, which is hardly fair, if someone asked Louis. Extremely pretty, offensively pretty, _gorgeously_ pretty. He probably needs glasses, in Louis’ opinion, because his green eyes are always squinting up at the board and then opening wide when he eventually turns to Louis to ask, “hey is that a 3 or an 8, mate?” And then he _giggles_ , because “that rhymes”. Giggling makes his dimple ( _dimple_ ) pop and his nose scrunch up and his cheeks pink lightly and it's all very inconducive to understanding these bloody formulas.

(The boy’s name is Harry. He's lovely and he's infuriating.) 

Today, Louis’ the first to engage, and it's only because he's an idiot who forgot his good pencil case and had to rummage through his bag in desperation and come up only with a very beaten up wood pencil--which promptly breaks five minutes into lecture. The second it snaps he knows what his only option is and still he spends a good thirty second hoping that maybe a nice mechanical pencil will fall down from the heavens and onto his lap. That doesn't happen, of course.

Sighing, he looks to the side and sees, from his peripherals, that Harry’s scribbling neatly and quickly, eyes glued to the board and bubblegum pink lower lip caught between his teeth. Louis snaps his eyes forward, looks up briefly, and huffs out a breath before turning his head to look at Harry directly. This time, Harry’s looking at him first, note-taking paused and eyes flicking quickly back and forth between the splintered remains of the pencil and Louis’ face.

Louis opens his mouth, ready to ask for a pencil through gritted teeth, when Harry whispers, “Knock knock!” His eyes are sparkling and he looks like he's shivering with happiness. The professor is still lecturing on.

Louis stares at Harry, sure one of them has gone mad. He has absolutely no idea what the fuck he’s on about; either he's hearing things or there really is something wrong with Harry. “Sorry?” He says, hoping his tone conveys his concern.

“Knock knock!” Harry repeats, a little louder, and Louis can smell the mint of goddamn chewing gum. “Go on, say who’s there!” His leg knocks into Louis’ calf. 

Louis is so shocked he does as Harry insists and stammers out, in a flat voice: “Wh-Who there's.” 

Harry grins so brightly Louis feels the need to pull out his sunglasses and put them on. “A broken pencil!” As he says this, his hands flail a bit in gesticulation and his own pencil rolls off the table. The professor has erased part of the board and begun to write new formulas. He has absolutely no idea how much they've missed.

Harry is watching him expectantly, so, with more than a little trepidation, Louis says, “A broken pencil who?”

In a voice that is decidedly above a whisper, Harry tells him, “It doesn't matter, it’s pointless!” At this, Harry seems to have reached his own breaking point: he’s practically bouncing in his seat and claps a hand over his mouth, seemingly to muffle his own giggles. His curls are held back by some sort of pretty green scarf, but they still bounce softly along with each shake of Harry’s shoulders.

Louis is speechless. The thing is, bad desk partner manners aside, Harry--well, Harry looks like the kind of bloke all blokes want to be. Effortlessly attractive; tall and lean, broad shoulders, a jawline that could cut glass. And he’s got this smirk , this irritating little smirk that makes Louis think Harry’s a little too fit for his own good, that maybe it's gone to his head. He looks like the kind of bloke who gets what he wants, _who_ he wants, just by the twitch of his fingers, and likes it that way. He does _not_ look like the kind of bloke to share painfully bad knock knock jokes in the midst of a statistics lecture like it’s the best fun he's had all week. 

Apparently Louis needs to reevaluate his assumptions; don’t judge a book by its cover, and all that. “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Louis blurts out inanely. 

Harry’s expression shutters a bit before turning to confusion and Louis feels suddenly, irrationally guilty. “I mean, haha. Pointless, haha. That’s um. A good one.” He winces at his own forced amusement but he feels the need to encourage this lovely boy’s whims. 

Harry seems pleased nonetheless. “I know! Saw your pencil snap and I just thought of that one! I've got a lot more, if you--” 

For a second, Louis feels an impulse to let Harry keep going, listen to him tell horrible jokes the whole rest of the period if it makes him smile, but in all honesty, he needs to pass this class and he now recognizes nothing on the board. “Mate,” he interrupts, trying for gentle and casual, “sorry, but it is lecture, and like. D’you happen to have a pencil I can use? Need one for me notes.”

Harry’s pretty mouth freezes mid-sentence and turns to briefly to a pout that makes Louis want to punch himself in this face, before he perks up again and says, “Yeah, sure, of course, uhm…” He twists in his chair to grope for his ridiculous messenger bag beneath the desk.

Louis does _not_ watch the way Harry’s muscles shift beneath his shirt--a green and yellow one that looks vaguely as though it is representing an _American_ football team, what the fuck --and clears his throat when Harry leans just that further down and a strip of pale skin is revealed above what appear to be hot pink underwear. 

Finally, blessedly, Harry turns back around, orange mechanical pencil held delicately in his fingertips. “Here you are, Louis,” he whispers sweetly. It occurs to Louis that this is the first time either of them have referred to the other by name since the first day of class, when they introduced themselves. 

Louis takes the proffered pencil, mumbling what he hopes is an intelligible thanks. Harry is smirking again but now--now it's occurred to Louis that maybe he got it all wrong, maybe that smirk only seems cocky to Louis _because_ Harry’s so fucking attractive. Now, it just looks like a shy little half-smile from a beautiful boy who likes to share knock knock jokes and writing utensils. He's also got what appears to be chipped off purple varnish on his nails. 

“Hey,” Harry breathes, when Louis still hasn't begun to write again, staring dumbly at Harry, “we missed a fair bit, but I‘ve still got more than you. Want to copy mine out?” He nudges his notebook over to Louis. Harry has adorably loopy handwriting. 

Louis stares some more. Harry snaps his gum loudly and tugs at a loose springy curl. The thing is, the professor is still droning on and now that Harry has given Louis his notes to copy, Harry isn't going to be able to resume at least the current bit of the lesson. It's completely illogical and a bad idea: there's a whole section they're both going to miss, and Harry doesn't have to. But he's going to. So that Louis can catch up with the sparse one-page of notes he missed because of that damn broken pencil.

Harry is picking at a hole in his jeans and glancing furtively over at Louis, who is still gaping at him. The movement of his fingers make the muscles of his forearm shift, drawing attention to numerous tattoos. “Uh--” 

“You're lovely.” The words tumble out of Louis’ mouth unbidden, and certainly not at a whisper. The girl who sits in front of them whips around to glare at him. Louis doesn't care because he's too busy simultaneously wishing the floor would up to swallow him whole, and wanting this moment to never end because Harry’s entire face and neck have flushed a startlingly bright pink. It was as though he'd never been hit on before-- _not_ that that's what Louis was doing, alright, it was just an _observation_ , but that's probably what it sounded like. 

Harry mouth is hanging open a little bit and he’s shifting restlessly, knee knocking into Louis’ repeatedly. The pink of his face is turning a bit blotchy and suddenly Louis’ thinking, _does he blush like this when he gets fucked_? And that is  _not_ what Louis needs right now, holy shit. So he says, “Anyway!” And feverishly starts to copy down the definition of a z-score.

He finishes up the notes just minutes before the lecture is over, and almost whimpers when Harry’s long fingers gently tug his notebook back over. This is so not on, Louis thinks to himself, he already had an issue with how pretty Harry was, he really doesn't need to have to be actually attracted to him as well. The minute the teacher finishes his last commentary, Louis is up and out of his chair.

(Louis gets home, orders a pizza, and when there's a knock on the door from the delivery person, he’s suddenly bombarded by the memory of a bad knock knock joke. He pays for the pizza and doesn't eat a bit. Louis wanks three times before he finally goes to bed that night.)

***

As a general rule, Harry likes to think of himself as a friendly guy, easy to talk to, open to all kinds of people. He likes that about himself. And he thinks he's a good conversationalist especially, always ready with a joke or three (or four or five or a hundred). _Good_ jokes, too, like a knock knock joke about a broken pencil. Classic, quality material.

Apparently, he’s off his game when it comes to gorgeous (brown-haired, blue-eyed, golden-skinned) men in statistics courses. Louis’d snapped his pencil, right there, and how could Harry not tell the joke? He'd had to. It'd have been a crime against humor if he hadn't.

Louis, however, responded by staring at Harry like he'd grown two extra heads. It's a lot, having someone so striking watching him that way. He'd been resisting the urge to crawl into Louis’ lap and rub his cheek across Louis’ stubbly jaw like a cat. That’d have probably been weird, even if Harry has little experience (intentionally) flirting with someone.

 _You’re lovely_. The words are there vibrating around in his head, loud and insistent and sounding like smooth caramel and crunchy toffee. He’s--he’s pretty sure that's not the casual sort of compliment a person pays just any bloke at any time. 

Harry’s curled up naked in on his couch (because he _can_ ), rolling a certain orange mechanical pencil between his fingers. Louis had nudged it over to Harry’s side even as he was rapidly stuffing his notebook into his bag and practically running for the door. He hadn't even knocked the pencil off the table, even though he clearly wasn't paying much attention to it. Harry bumps his pencil off the desk at least three times per class period; Louis picks them up for him often, which is awful because then Harry has to look at the soft expanse of his tan neck or golden skin of his hip as he leans down.

 _You’re lovely_. Harry whines and tosses the pencil across the room, just as the front door opens and his flatmate, Niall, walks in. The blur of orange narrowly misses Niall’s right elbow.

“Oi!” Niall says loudly. He’s struggling with a large volume of books and a liter of Mountain Dew. Harry scrambles off the couch and grabs two books and the soda from Niall’s arms. He deposits them onto their kitchen counter, and Niall follows suit.

“Why were you tryin’ to take me out with a penc--I c’n see your dick, mate, we talked about this,” Niall says resignedly, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.

Harry lets out an irritated noise but walks the whole fifteen steps across the tiny flat to his room to find and pull on a pair of boxers. As soon as he returns to the kitchen counter, Niall starts in on a rant.

“Fuckin’ ass in my ethics class is tryin’ to tell me that if a civilization has been like, colonized by another country, then it’s alright to ban that civilization’s musical practice! And if it has you know, special instruments or writings, to take that away too! And I said, mate, ‘s not even okay to colonize _anyway_! And the asshole goes, well yeah, but it's already happened then why not think about the morals after! And I said, hey asshole, I’m thinking, if we're just talkin’ about the morals _after_ , the only good things to do is to bloody leave them alone, like with their culture and shite, let them preserve you know, whatever music or summat. And then this _dickhead_ goes on and says, listen, kid, he called me a kid!, the music isn't even that important, right it's not preserving _anything_ , it just reminds them that they used to not be colonized and that would start a war! And the ethical thing to be doin’ is--is to keep the _peace_ so people don’t die! And the music, it's got no cultural value, it only fuckin’ _threatens_ the peace! And I said--well I said, fuck that, mate, and so ‘m gonna read up and I'm gonna _find_ proof that number one! Music has cultural value, innit, and two the argument about doin’ whatever you damn want to keep the _peace_ is just an excuse to oppress people and--” At this point Niall has meandered over to their fridge and stuffed several slices of cheese into his mouth. Harry sighs and grabs a cup from the cupboard near his head, uncaps the Mountain Dew, pours it into the cup and hands it over to Niall just as he's swallowing the cheese forcefully down his throat, who drinks it gratefully.

“Thanks, Haz,” Niall says, burping. “Anyway, might just go back to me original point, colonization is the fucked up issue, because him sayin’ that, that we’re just gonna discuss the _afterwards_ ,” he snorts, “is weak and transparent as hell, mate.”

Harry nods along, because he agrees, with the parts of Niall's tirade that were actually comprehensible at least, and he has opinions about all this, he just--couldn't make a whole major out of it like Niall is. “Yeah, Nialler,” he says placatingly.

Niall looks forlornly at his stack of heavy books. “Later, maybe,” he says dismissively. “What about you, Haz?” He’s rummaging through their fridge again. Harry is aware that anything he says will sound frivolous compared to Niall’s regular report of his ethics course. Fortunately, Harry is used to it, and he knows Niall takes the common man’s struggles just as seriously.

“If a boy calls you lovely, is that pretty gay? Like I’m gay but maybe that isn't gay,” Harry says, flipping idly through a book about ancient musical practices.

“Come again?” Niall says, blond head popping up over the fridge door. “Who’re you on about?”

Harry sighs. “Louis,” he squints at an image of a dirty cave wall. “He said I was lovely after I told him a knock knock joke and gave him an orange pencil.” He flips through the pages and shuts the book gently. It looks old and important; he pats the cover softly.

“Haz,” Niall sing-songs in a knowing tone. “Louis From Statistics hit on you?” Harry looks up at him and Niall’s got a salami stick in one hand and a juice box in the other.

“No,” Harry whines impatiently, “Louis From Statistics said quote ‘ _you’re lovely_ ’ end-quote and then bolted for the door when lecture ended. I told him a knock knock joke about a broken pencil.” His hair is free from his scarf and he fiddles with it nervously. “Maybe the knock knock joke was too much. It was _funny_ though,” he mumbles petulantly.

“Babe,” Niall says matter-of-factly as he starts to head for the couch, “your knock knock jokes are awful, and Louis From Statistics wants to suck your dick and probably you to suck his dick. We have plenty of bananas. I’d start practicing, you _lovely_ little virgin.” He pats Harry’s bum with the salami stick as he passes by.

Harry drops his head to his hands and then his brain fully processes what Niall’s said, and now he’s thinking about dick-sucking and getting under the desk on his knees during statistics lecture for Louis and--

“If you're gonna wank, please go to your room,” Niall calls from the couch, where he’s watching a soap opera. “I can't think about music and colonization with you moaning, mate.”

Harry snorts but wanders off to his room anyway. It's a Tuesday and he doesn't have statistics again until Thursday. He can calm down by then. He _can_.

***

All day Thursday before statistics, an evening class that starts at five in the afternoon, Louis debates whether it’s better to arrive early or late. If he arrives early, there's a chance he’ll end up with extra time near Harry and no lecture to keep them occupied. Harry might try to talk to him and Louis might say something foolish. On the other hand, if he arrives late it’ll draw attention to his presence, and he might miss some notes which could lead to Harry offering his own again.

Louis ends up arriving two minutes after the start of class, but only because he was so busy worrying about Harry he lost track of time. The irony, honestly.

It turns out he doesn't have extra space for Harry to talk to him and possibly ruin him, nor does he miss any introductory notes. Because it's an exam day. And he completely forgot. He walks in just as the professor is going on, for the third time this semester, about what she expects from the class, the usual cheating policies, which calculators are allowed, etc etc etc.

Louis isn't paying her the slightest bit of attention because he’s too preoccupied panicking. Not only did he not study even a little bit, but he missed nearly an entire lecture’s worth of content from the last class. He is so incredibly fucked. In his panic, he drops his resolve to maintain distance from Harry and turns to him anxiously. “D’d you remember we had an exam, mate? Maybe this is a surprise exam? She can't do that, right? I mean, pop quizzes, yeah, but not an _exam_.”

Harry stares at him nervously, green eyes round and shocked. “No I didn't, shit, but it's not a surprise. Look.” He's holding out the syllabus--barely even creased, how the _fuck_ does he still have that thing, it's nearly two months into the semester--and there it is. _Exam #3: October 3rd_. Fuck.

“Fuck,” Louis says, with real emotion. “Fuck.”

Harry shakes his head at him, knee bouncing and boot tapping into Louis’ ankle. Louis can't even find it in himself to care. He sort of wants to hold Harry’s hand and soothe him. _Jesus Christ_. Now is not the time for his brain to be doing this. “Shut up,” he mumbles under his breath and Harry actually flinches. Louis jerks his head up. “No, shit, I didn't mean you, love, I--”

And he can't say anymore because the exams are being passed to them and the rest of the class has started scribbling out problems furiously. Harry makes a small little sound and he’s slowly flushing a _gorgeous_ rosy red. Louis can’t believe it; well, he can’t believe he called Harry _love_ like that, he sort of wants to disappear. But really, he can’t believe that this has Harry so flustered. He knows that he was probably off about his first judgment of Harry, but still. Harry is--Harry’s fucking _fit_ , and he’s (usually) got an air of easy confidence about him that screams he’s out of Louis’ league. But Louis throws him one accidental pet name and Harry is a squirming mess.

Harry snaps his gum excessively loudly and his dimple pops. Louis shouldn't do it. Now is really, really not the time. The professor is intermittently raising her eyes to scan the classroom: for raised hands or, more likely, cheaters. But Louis can’t help himself. He tries nonchalantly pretend to scoot his chair closer to the desk, whilst really scooting it nearer to Harry, then leans carefully to the side and just barely brushes the back of his hand down Harry’s shoulder and flank before returning back to his own space.

The reaction is astounding. Harry chokes on his own air and shivers, before crossing his legs once, uncrossing them again, and then crossing them one last time. He makes an odd movement, with his arm, tucking his elbow at a strange angle against his lower belly, so that his hand is over his--Louis bites back an actual gasp. There is no fucking way he’s getting _hard._  No way. But Harry is twitchy and biting the knuckle of his other hand.

Louis shouldn't have done it and now he can't do anything more about it. They're in the middle of an _exam_ , for fuck’s sake. Shakily, he turns to his test and tries to focus. Unfortunately, even though there's some material he knows he can recall, he didn't study it and he can’t fucking focus even if his life depended on it. He gets one single problem done, and he knows the answer is wrong but he just can’t do it. He couldn't if his life depended on it (and his life kind of does, he thinks to himself, with the moroseness of any uni student).

There’s a muted, slow ripping sound from Harry’s side, and then a small piece of the scratch paper they were given is being pushed into his field of vision. _Knock knock_ , it reads in familiar loopy writing. It takes every ounce of Louis’ self-control not to burst out giggling hysterically.

Fuck it. _Who’s there_ , he writes quickly, his own scratchy scrawl looking exceptionally inelegant. He glances up and see the professor is looking at her own laptop screen.

 _Noah_ , reads the next line on the paper as long, slim fingers return it to his side. A boot knocks into his ankle; Louis would take all the ankle bruises in the world for this boy. Fuck, he’s so fucked. He brings his pencil down to continue the horrible joke but there’s distant tap of shoes on the floor coming towards them. Okay. Fuck, he's so _fucked_.

“I haven't had cheating this obvious since I taught middle school,” the professor says, her voice mild and unimpressed.

Louis swallows his pride, because cheating gets people expelled in uni and if he’s going to be kicked out of an exam he needs the professor to do it with the knowledge he wasn't actually cheating. “We weren’t--”

The professor sighs. “This isn't high school, I'm not putting on a show. You’re disrupting students. Please exit my classroom. I'll send an email to the dean.”

Harry makes a wounded sound, stutters, and _hands their statistics professor their knock knock note_. Louis wants to cry.

The professor stares at the note and stares at them. They stare back. Half the class stares at the whole situation. Louis admires the other half determinedly continuing on with their exam. “I'll contact you about the procedure for this--this sort of, ah. Infraction. Why you decided this was the time to exchange juvenile joke, I'll never know. As I said, you are disrupting students, I am not a high school teacher. Leave my room, please. Now.”

Harry and Louis rush to put their stuff away and scramble out the classroom at top speed. Louis wonders if he's dreaming as they step out into the hallway. And then Harry trips over his own two feet and Louis grabs his waist to keep him from going down. It’s a _very_ nice waist; warm, trim, firm. He lets go as soon as Harry is steady.

Harry adjusts his messenger bag on his shoulder. “Look, ‘m really sorry, fuck, it was my fault, I didn’t, um. I shouldn't have. Passed you that knock knock joke.” He mumbles the last bit, looking mortified.

“Mate,” Louis says, unable to stand it, “I passed it back, alright. Wasn't getting shite done on the fuckin’ test either, if I’m being honest.”

Abruptly, Harry is grinning, a sparkle in his eye and relaxed tilt to his shoulders. It’s very unnerving. “Yeah? You only missed a small bit on Tuesday. Exam was on the whole chapter, didn't see you struggle with that before now. You’re a bad test taker then, or something?” He looks smug and like he _knows_.

Caught off guard by this sudden, confident teasing Harry, Louis stammers out, “Or something.” He wonders how weird it would be if he actually slapped himself across the face right then and there. Harry snaps his gum, dimple popping ridiculously. They're both walking towards the parking lot. “You don't live on campus?” Louis says curiously.

“Oh, um, no.” Harry answers. “Got a shitty flat with my best mate, Niall, about 20 minutes out from campus. You?” They've slowed down somewhat.

“Yeah,” says Louis, eyeing Harry’s collarbones, which are on display above the half-unbuttoned burgundy-plum flannel he’s wearing today. “I mean, that's me as well. Shitty flat and shitty roommate, actually.” Liam’s not _that_ bad, Louis just likes taking the piss out of him and that extends beyond just in Liam’s presence.

Harry is staring intensely at Louis’ mouth. Louis scratches at his stubble self-consciously and Harry shivers. Louis watches his nipples pebble under his thin shirt; he wants to _ruin_ Harry. This is a disaster. They've stopped, standing awkwardly in the parking lot. Harry has stopped chewing his gum. He wonders when he spit it out. That should be gross, but Louis can’t be arsed to care.

“Well,” Louis says, searching for something to relieve this fucking tension. “I think if a bloke gets kicked out his stats exam for a knock knock joke, he deserves to hear the punchline, yeah?” He figures a bad knock knock joke might make things less...ready to snap. 

“Oh!” Harry says, beaming. “I forgot where we left off, what was it again?” He looks overjoyed to be exchanging a shit joke.

“Ah, you said _knock_ _knock_ , then I said _who’s there_ , and then you said _Noah_ ,” Louis supplies helpfully. He hates that he's actually curious about the rest of the joke. “So, Noah who?”

“ _Oh_ ,” says Harry, in a much different tone, dragging out the syllable. He looks bashful now. Louis cannot keep up with this boy, it's going to kill him. “Right, well.” He shuffles his feet. Fuck, what kind of knock knock joke gets a bloke nervous? “Noah a good place we could get something to eat?” Harry says it all very quickly and then scratches the back of his neck. His shirt is a bit too small for him so even that tiny movement, lifts the hem of his shirt; purple briefs today, almost coordinating with the flannel. Sharp hip bones, hugged by soft hips.

Louis blinks. Blinks again. He looks up from Harry’s midsection and processes the words. “Oh!” He parrots Harry accidentally. “That’s--I mean--did you mean, like, were you saying--”

Harry takes mercy on him; apparently, Louis making a fool out of himself has given Harry some confidence. “Well, I _did_ plan to write it out in case you rejected me, see? Easier that way. I could just tear it up and pretend it never happened, yeah?” He grins, and it is at once shy and sensual. _Coy_ , Louis’ mind supplies.

“But you’re so fucking fit,” Louis breathes helplessly.

Harry blushes that rosy color again, so lovely on his skin, and cocks his hips. He is infuriatingly _sexy_ but he’s so sweet too and Louis can’t handle it. “I dunno about,” Harry clears his throat, “about that but I mean--ah, you are too and like, why’d’you think I’m asking you out?” The words could be rude but Harry is biting his lip and fluttering his eyelashes. He’s _flirting_.

Louis looks around and maybe the world has finally noticed all his bad luck recently and decided to give him a gift, because his own car is right behind Harry. They're close enough together that he just sort of backs Harry up to the side of his car and finally, _finally_ kisses him silly.

Harry kisses just the way he _is_ : simultaneously confident and teasing; gentle and curious. Both sensual and shy. Both tongue and dry lips. He's taller than Louis, not much by too much, but he spreads his legs a bit and that brings him comfortably down to Louis’ level. This unfortunately for Louis’ stamina means that Louis’ pelvis is pressed flush against Harry’s, and strong thighs are cradling Louis’ own.

There’s a soft whine, and then a moan, and then a little _mewl_ , and Louis realizes Harry’s gotten more than a bit worked up, chasing after Louis each time he slows the kiss down. He tugs himself away from Harry’s lips, and kisses down his jaw to the pulse point on his neck. Harry rolls his head back to expose his throat and Louis does his best to bury himself in that warm, fruity-smelling, soft piece of heaven. “Bar and grill,” he mumbles into delicate flesh.

“What,” Harry groans, sounding lost. Louis moans and slips a hand under Harry’s shirt, grabbing onto one soft, _soft_ love handle.

“There’s a bar and grill down the street from my flat,” he says as he noses up to Harry’s ear, nibbling at it with his teeth. “I _noah_ good place to eat,” he breathes.

Harry bursts in magical little peals of laughter and Louis feels like he could fly. What the _fuck._  This is his statistics classmate; they barely know each other. Louis would currently streak arse-naked across the footie field on a game day if it made Harry laugh like that.

“Yeah?” Harry says happily, the grin so evident in his voice Louis has to regrettably pull away from his happy place to see it. The smile is so large and lovely, the movement was worth it.

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs, bumping their noses together. “‘s my car we’re defiling right now. Could take you there now if you want.”

Harry pecks his cheek. “Oh, good, it’s your car. Was a bit worried. They have alcohol at this bar and grill?”

Louis stares at him. “It’s a _bar_ and grill, love.” The pet name rolls off his tongue easily and he doesn't feel even a little bit guilty.

Harry snorts. “I’m just checking. Need a drink before I start thinking too much about my marks in stats.” He drags his fingertips across Louis’ jaw and thumbs slightly over Louis’ lip. “Although, you’re so beautiful, might not need a single drop to make me forget.”

It’s so ridiculously sappy, so cliche, but Harry’s eyes are sincere and his voice is dreamy and relaxed that Louis can’t stop himself from blushing. “Gonna sweep me off my feet, like a proper Prince Charming, aren’t you--,” Louis pauses, frowning. “What’s your last name, babe?”

Harry titters. “Styles. I’m Harry Styles.”

Louis nods decisively. “Tomlinson, me. So, gonna sweep me off my feet, aren’t you, _Styles_?”

“Hey, what happened to the Prince Charming?” Harry protests. “Liked that bit.”

“Well,” Louis muses. “You _do_ have the hair bit down,” he tugs a loose curl, “but the hipster torn up jeans aren’t exactly shining armor, sweetheart.” He tucks a fingertip into a hole at the top of Harry’s thigh.

Harry’s pretty mouth opens to defend himself, but Louis interrupts. “I wasn't complaining, babe. Every time you wear this pair, this tear right here,” he wiggles his fingertip to indicate, “gets larger. I can see more and more skin each time. Very pretty skin,” he says, voice going raspy even to his own ears.

“You notice my jeans?” Harry breathes.

Louis blushes, he should be more embarrassed, as it sounds rather creepy in retrospect but Harry’s eyes have gone dark and he’s tilting his hips away from Louis’ carefully. Louis wonders if he’s getting hard. Fuck.

“Mm,” he hums vaguely. “So--d’you wanna go relieve our class sorrows in that bar and grill?” He brings both his hands up to Harry’s biceps, more appropriately for standing in the middle of their fucking uni parking lot.

Harry smirks that smirk that probably isn't a smirk at all and nods cheerfully. “Yeah, yeah let’s. Although, um. If you drive you'll have to bring me back here afterwards, for my car. If you're okay with that. If you're not, we can drive separately.”

Driving Harry means an extra half hour of time spent with him, which sounds good to Louis. That sentiment, however, probably is actually creepy so he keeps it to himself. “Nah, babe, ‘s alright with me. I don't mind driving you back here.”

Harry shrugs easily and kisses Louis’ nose. “So are you gonna let me get in the car, or you have a plan to get the car to take us there just like this?” He’s got that confident edge to his voice back.

Louis laughs and pulls away, feeling cold without Harry against him. He fishes his keys out of his back and unlocks the car. Feeling a bit like Prince Charming himself, he walks Harry around to the passenger side and opens his door for him. Harry flushes at the gesture and tugs him in for a chaste kiss. “Thanks,” he murmurs, sincere and kind.

Once he’s in the car and they’re driving away from campus, he’s hyper aware of the situation. This is _Harry_ , pretty, smirking lovely Harry, who he barely talked to all semester and was brought together with through knock knock jokes. Bless the world and all its games, honestly.

***

Harry has always had very vivid dreams, wildly inventive and realistic ones he can recall detail by detail when he wakes up. Therefore, he’s not entirely sure he’s not dreaming right now. He was kicked out of a stats exam for passing knock knock jokes with Louis, who then pressed him up against a car and snogged him senseless, and is now taking him to a bar and grill down the street from his own flat. It sounds ridiculous. _Dream-like_ , actually. Except his lips tingle from all the kissing and he pinches his wrist, and it hurts. So, he’s not dreaming. He just can't believe that he’s not dreaming.

He might be just really fucking horny--he has been fighting a war with his dick since stats started--but Louis driving is excessively hot and Harry can't exactly say why. Just like, his profile is stunning and they're driving towards the sun so golden light is glancing off every angle of his face, and the tendons and muscles move in arms every time he turns the wheel. Each time he brakes his thigh tense tantalizing under the black denim of his jeans. Harry _wants_. And he knows nothing about what to do with that want. He’s wanted people before, of course, but it's just--never come to this point. Of possibility.

Mercifully, Louis asks something to take his mind off its current turmoil. “Last class you offered to tell me some ace knock knock jokes, yeah? S’that like your thing then?”

Harry perks right up, because it _is_ his thing. “Yeah! Got a shit ton of them, Niall never wants to hear them,” he pouts. “But they're all quality, like the broken pencil one!” The broken pencil one was art, in Harry’s opinion, if not just because of the brilliant comedic timing. And, Harry’s pretty sure it’s reasonable to say that joke might get him laid. 

Louis makes an aborted coughing sound, glancing at him with a surprisingly _fond_ look. “Yeah, it was a good one, I'll just have to hear the rest of your repertoire and judge for meself just how good that one was.”

Harry can _feel_ himself glowing. No one, not just Niall, listens to his jokes. At least, they won't for extended amount of times and definitely not without ridiculing them. “What’s _your_ thing then?” Harry asks, an open ended question. 

“Mmm,” Louis hums thoughtfully. “Well, I've got meself set on becoming a drama teacher, cos I like acting and performing and that, and I like kids. I‘ve got a whole load of little sisters and a brother back home.” Harry is _fine_ , he’s fine, Louis loves kids and he’s got a bunch of siblings, it’s all fine. “I used to sing and play a bit of piano, but I don't do that much anymore. Used to play football, _real_ football,” Louis continues with a smirk at Harry.

Harry sticks his tongue out him. “Mate, if you recognized my American tee then I've got some news for you about your football purity.”

Louis makes an affronted sound and flips him off. “What’re you studying then, smartass?” They've pulled into the parking lot and into a space, and Louis touches two fingers to Harry’s wrist to soften the words. 

“I'm going into law, I think,” Harry says shyly, because he gets mixed reactions to that. “Used to bake, though, since we’re talking about things we _used_ to do,” he offers. He looks down and fiddles with that hole in his jeans Louis confessed to loving. 

“Law?” Louis murmurs. “You’d be right for that. Smart, good at noticing things. You’ll do good, babe.” There’s a click as he unbuckles his seatbelt, then nudges Harry’s chin up with two finger tips and kisses him softly. Harry thinks he knows what butter feels like when it melts, because he’s a puddle in his seat. “Maybe you can bake something for me, yeah?” Louis suggests as he pulls away to open his door.

Harry used to think swooning only existed in fiction but he sways in his spot for a moment before unbuckling his own seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. Louis was just making small talk, he tells himself; suggesting Harry bake something for him was not a casual reference to _this_ extending beyond an impromptu date after being kicked out an exam. Absolutely not. The door opens just as Harry’s fingers wrap around the latch and Louis is there, all feathery brown hair and golden skin and crinkly blue eyes. “Almost fell over leaving class,” he’s saying, “best keep you close to my side.” He’s smiling as he grabs Harry’s hand and tugs him out of the car.

Harry realizes he hasn’t spoken since Louis told him he would be good at law and promptly stole his heart. This is ridiculous. Harry’s an adult in uni, he needs to get a grip. “People say I‘ve got two left feet and giraffe legs. Too long,” he explained explains. 

Louis lets out a noise of discontent as they walk up to the bar and grill, a charming red brick building with a chalkboard easel out front displaying the specials. “You’ve got amazing legs,” Louis tells him. “ _People_ don’t know shit. Fucking best legs I’ve ever seen.” And then he takes Harry’s hand. 

Harry. Is. Fine. “Yeah, well,” Harry says faintly. “Yours are the best legs I’ve ever seen, so I guess our legs were meant to be together.” What the fuck? They’ve walked into the foyer of the building and there’s a large decorative potted plant that he might be able to hide behind if he makes a break for it now. _Their legs were meant to be together_. Niall would smack him.

“Just our legs, then?” Louis says playfully and pets his hair. “D’you wanna sit at a booth or at the bar, Mr. I-Need-Alcohol-Because-Of-A-Stats-Exam?”

 

 _No! Not just our legs!_ Harry wants to yell. _We’ve only been talking properly for an hour and a half but I think you’re my soulmate!_ He doesn’t, but only because his mother raised him to have some self-control. “Well,” he says, going for charming, “I actually said you were so beautiful alcohol wasn’t necessary, but if my attempts to woo you are that forgettable…”

Louis blushes, and bats his eyelashes, and Harry feels like the playing field has been leveled out a bit. “A booth, then,” Louis says in a raspy voice. It’s a seat-yourself establishment so they head over to cozy booth in a corner of the relatively small place.

Harry kind of wants to sit in Louis’ lap but he remembers manners and boundaries and seats himself across from Louis. A server stops by to hand them menus and recite the specials. The lighting make Louis’ bone structure even more dramatic and when he leans forward to point out good things on the menu, shadows are cast on the curve of his biceps and forearms, and the pout of lower lip. Harry’s dick perks up and he kicks out his leg in response. His boot taps Louis’ ankle.

“You do that outside of class, too, then?” Louis says with amusement in his voice. Harry blinks and shifts his elbow, which knocks his spoon off the table on the booth beside him. He fumbles to pick it up and sees Louis’ fighting laughter.

“Stop,” Harry whines, with a pout. “I’m so clumsy. Niall says it makes me seem like a four year old or summat.” That comparison does not sound attractive to Harry and he’s guessing not to Louis, either.

Louis is still smiling but softer this time. “Love, you do not seem like four year old. It’s adorable, yeah. But I would not be looking at you how I have if you seemed like a four year old,” he nudges Harry’s ankle with his own foot.

He can’t help himself. “How have you been looking at me?” Harry chews his lip nervously; he’s not trying to be a tease it’s just--he hasn’t done this, alright. He can flirt, when he wants, and apparently he flirts when he doesn’t mean to, sometimes, but he doesn’t...he’s never gotten to the serious part. He’s in uncharted waters here.

Louis tilts his head, looking at him like he’s a problem from their stats class he can’t figure out before he seems to decide Harry isn’t being an ass. “Like I want you,” Louis murmurs, simple and honest. Harry shivers, and Louis touches his wrist and repeats, “I want you.”

Harry closes his eyes and listens to Louis’ breath, just three counts of it. Three seconds. And then he opens them and looks at Louis who’s watching him carefully, but with heat in his eyes. Harry touches his own fingers to the inside of Louis’ wrist, the delicate warm skin. “I want you, too,” he says, surprised at the deepness of his own voice, but glad for it because it sounds more confident than he feels.

Louis brings Harry’s fingers up to his mouth and runs his lips lightly over them before releasing Harry’s hand. Harry knows he’s bright fucking red but he’s thankful for the cover of the table because his dick is also hard as a rock, just from Louis kissing his hand. Shit. He’s got no problem with never having had sex, really, it’s just the way it’s worked out for him: there’s been reason for or cause of it, and he’s not worried about it. But this--right now it’s pretty bloody inconvenient.

The waiter comes over just then, and Harry orders a water and a Greek salad, no onions. Louis gets a Coke and a burger. Neither of them actually orders the alcohol they’d joked about, and Harry appreciates that but he also thinks he’ll need to break into Niall’s tequila when he gets home. 

“Babe, you know this a bar and _grill_ ,” Louis teases but he doesn’t seem actually irritated or judgmental so Harry laughs and flips him off.

“If it weren’t for my radiant beauty,” Louis says loftily, “what alcoholic distraction would you have ordered? I’ve always thought that, if a person does drink, their beverage of choice is rather telling about the person, yeah?”

Harry hums, thinking about it. “Peach schnapps, with Sprite.” It’s a sweet drink and Harry enjoys it, and the alcohol content, especially with Sprite or whatever, isn’t too high, so he can have a couple at a time.

Louis looks horrified. “Sorry? Did you just say peach schnapps? Schnapps? Of the peach variety? Oh my god.”

“It’s sweet!” Harry defends, giggling at the betrayed expression on Louis’ face.

Louis relaxes a bit. “Well, I did say the choice of drink was telling about a person and you are very sweet, I s’pose it’s fitting.” Harry sputters and looks at the table, as both his dick and heart throb. Christ.

“Alright then, what’s your drink?” Harry asks, both curious and desperate for a distraction.

“Beer,” Louis says, easily. “A dirty martini if I’m in the mood.”

Harry makes a face. “Beer. That’s it.”

Louis grins at him. “You look like a disgruntled kitten. Alright, alright, I like mojitos too but only when I’m not with people I know.”

“Why not with people you know?” Harry asks, brow furrowing.

“Mm, gotta keep up my reputation as a beer man,” Louis says, “also none of my friends know I like mojitos and I tend to drink them when I’m wallowing, or celebrating, and generally when I want to do those things on my own. So no one knows.”

Harry blinks. “I know,” he says, hoping his voice only sounds weird to his ears.

Louis blinks back at him, mouth open. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft, “you do know.” It’s just a _drink_ , an inane small fact about alcoholic beverage choice but Louis made it sound personal and Harry knows and no one else knows. What the fuck. 

Their food is delivered to them and it _is_ really fucking good actually, so Harry says so. “Shit, this is _really_ good, Louis.” The salad is fresh and the feta is real feta, and the olives are wonderful, flavor spreading deliciously in his mouth.

Louis is munching happily at his burger, looking very cute, but he pauses and swallows to respond to Harry. “Well, yeah,” he licks his lips, “I did say I _noah_ good place.” Harry smiles down at his salad like a fool. No one indulges him like this.

They’ve finished their food, but the service is a bit slow so they’re waiting on the check when Louis says, “Wasn’t I promised some good knock knock jokes?” He’s looking at Harry expectantly with a half-smile.

“Yeah!” Harry says excitedly. “Umm, let me just--oh! Alright, knock knock!” Harry is in his _element_ , he’s _thriving_. He delivers jokes like this like he was born to do it, Louis is going to be amazed.

“Who’s there?” Louis asks complacently, with laughter in his eyes.

Harry says his part, anticipation of the punchline boiling in his veins. “Little old lady,” he smirks. Louis watches his mouth for a moment.

“Little old lady who?” It’s perfect, Louis says it just the right way, bringing the syllables together wonderfully.

 It’s with great relish and joyfulness that Harry delivers his line, laughing halfway through it. “I didn’t know you could yodel!” _Fuck_ , that’s a good one. He keeps giggling even after he’s said it.

Louis is chuckling and watching Harry like--like he’s a treasure. “Alright, alright that was clever,” he says. “Where’d you find that one?” The waiter brings them the check and they split it, lingering at the table a bit longer.

“I dunno,” Harry thinks. “I just sort of pick them up places, collect them, I guess.” He shrugs; the jokes are fun and he likes them. He tugs at his lower lip thoughtfully. Louis’ watching him again.

“And then you use them to pick up boys in uni classes,” Louis says, arching an eyebrow.

Harry grins and tugs at a loose curl. “Only the fit ones,” he responds, an age old line that even he knows never loses its flirtatious touch. Louis’ mouth parts and then Harry’s dick twitches and his leg kicks forward to nudge Louis’ ankle.

Instead of poking fun at him for it, Louis foot nudges his own calf again, but there’s an expression on his face that is decidedly less playful than before. Harry presses his shoulders back against the booth, willing himself to _calm down_. “And I’m a fit one, then?” Louis murmurs, keeping his foot tucked between Harry’s calves.

“Fuck,” Harry groans. “You’re the fit one, yeah.” He doesn’t even notice the slight change in wording he’s made or the implications of it until Louis makes a small sound and a flush dusts his cheekbones. Harry’s dick is straining his jeans and he lets a pitiful whine at the feeling, staring helplessly at Louis’ mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing to me,” Louis breathes, looking at him like he’s in shock. “I haven’t even--we haven’t even touched, and I’m losing my fucking _mind_ , shit. You’ve got me--you’ve me all fucked up and you’re just--Jesus…” Louis trails off, bringing his foot up between Harry’s knees. Harry clenches them together automatically, locking Louis’ foot even further up between his thighs.

“Louis,” he says, a note of warning in his voice. A note of pleading. “I need.” He doesn’t know what he needs. Actually, that’s wrong. He knows exactly what he needs, he just has no idea how to get it. His dick is at the point where, if he were alone, he’d grab it instinctually, unable to tease himself any longer. He can’t do that here though, and it’s _excruciating_. “Louis,” he begs again. 

Louis nods vigorously, suddenly, and shuffles out of the booth. He’s--he’s hard too, Harry sees with relief, but not nearly as badly as Harry, able to keep it concealed if he moves quickly. Harry is as hard as he gets before he comes. He can’t get any harder and there’s no way he can walk out of here without it being visible. 

It’s telling when he carefully slings his messenger bag around to his front, but it’s preferable to the older couple two booths over seeing his raging hard on. Louis’ eyes flick between Harry’s face and where he’s awkwardly holding the messenger bag, and he curses loudly, a flush creeping up on his chest, visible above the v-neck cut of his shirt.

“Fuck, fuck, alright,” Louis says, standing next to Harry and very lightly, so lightly, placing a hand on his shoulder blade to guide them out of the restaurant.

“Car, car, car,” Louis is chanting, almost as if to himself. The anticipation has Harry shivering and he will take whatever Louis is willing to give him right now. _Anything_.

***

Louis is 22 years old and should be capable of having mature, responsible, well-planned sexual encounters by now. He has had such experiences. Good experiences. And then Harry _fucking_ Styles looks at him with big green eyes in a bar and grill, nipples perked up through his shirt, and says he _needs_ and Louis is gone. Harry is apparently so hard he needs his bag to hide it. Louis needs him to not hide it; Louis needs to _see it_. To see Harry.

Dusk has fallen when they exit the restaurant, and Louis tugs his phone out long enough to see that it’s nearly 8:30. They get to Louis’ car, an SUV with a roomy middle and back row. Louis looks at him. “Harry,” he starts. “I don’t know what you--if you want to but, ah.” He places his hand meaningfully on the handle to the door that leads to the middle row. He doesn’t know if this is alright, he doesn’t know if this is what Harry wants. Maybe in the fresh air outside, away from their cozy little booth, Harry just wants to go home. Louis will respect that, he’ll drive him to his car, wish him a good night and go home and wank still he’s sore. But maybe--maybe they both want _this_. Maybe they both want whatever they can get right fucking now.

In answer, Harry crowds Louis up against the door and tucks his face into Louis’ neck. “Please,” he whines, his warm breath ghosting over Louis’ skin. “Please.” He covers the hand Louis has on the door handle and nods. “Yeah.”

Louis sucks in a sharp breath, relieved beyond words, and tugs Harry away just long enough to open the door before guiding him in and shutting it behind them. The middle is roomy, but not excessively, so Louis shuffles around until he’s sitting on the seat and looks at Harry, with his rosy red mouth and blown eyes and rumpled hair tucked beneath a lilac scarf. Harry fumbles to get his messenger bag off and Louis has a millisecond to see how fucking _hard_ his dick is before he’s there in Louis’ lap.

Louis takes Harry’s mouth the second it’s close enough and he nearly moans at the feel of it. Fuck, kissing is not supposed to be this good. But it’s hot, it’s so _so_ hot; it’s slick and wet and Harry is mewling, so pretty into his mouth, and arching his body. His dick presses into Louis’ torso and Louis’ brain blanks out for minute.

“Oh my god,” Louis mumbles into the kiss, refusing to pull his lips away from Harry’s even to speak. He’s suddenly aware of how he’s groping Harry, his hands moving frantically on their own, greedily feeling any part he can touch. Louis grips Harry’s soft little hips, the waistband of his pants pushing down just a centimeter. Harry makes a sweet sound, a tiny cry, and rocks his hips into Louis.

“Please,” Harry’s begging, again, his body moving in a way that makes Louis feel like he’s going to go mad. “I--I’m...oh, fuck, please.” Harry drags his face down to Louis’ neck and nibbles, sucks, licks, pants. Louis can feel the flutter of Harry’s eyelashes. 

He wants to give him everything. “Harry,” he groans. “What d’you…” Harry thigh is pressing against Louis’ dick and he’s seeing stars. This is ridiculous, impossible, nothing _feels_ the way this is feeling. 

“Whatever, anything, o-oh,” Harry’s whining into his neck. “Fuck.” His hands, which have been unusually still on Louis’ shoulders, wrestle their way between their bodies to dip under the hem of Louis’ shirt.. Harry bites Louis’ neck as soon as he touches Louis’ skin. “Louis,” Harry says, voice urgent and high-pitched.

Louis presses his nose into Harry’s hair and brings up a hand to tug the scarf out of Harry’s hair, so that the curls are loose and free, brushing against Louis’ face. “You’re so fucking _gorgeous_ , Harry,” Louis rasps, now moving his hand to brush a hardened nipple through Harry’s shirt. Harry’s entire body jerks, which Louis wasn’t expecting, so he pinches his nipples more purposefully and Harry moans the loudest he has yet.

“ _Please_ ,” Harry begs, sounding near tears, “oh my god, I-I’m--” Harry’s hands are shaking against Louis’ skin, clutching him desperately.

Overwhelmed, Louis bites Harry’s earlobe more harshly than he means to but before he can apologize, Harry is clawing at him and wriggling his body frantically. His dick feels thick and heavy against Louis, even through two layers of denim and cotton. “Fuck,” Louis says, his own cock twitching. “Alright--take your jeans off, babe--”

“No,” Harry gasps, but not in the way Louis thinks he’s saying no. “‘m not gonna l-last,” he stutters. “I’m sorry, fuck, I.” Harry’s mouth is open against Louis’ neck but no sound is coming out. He’s panting and his hips are swiveling, in a way that Louis suspects is unconscious.

Louis’ head is swimming. Harry is so close he’ll come before they get their pants off; that’s so unexpectedly hot Louis wants to cry. Instead, he says, “Shh, kitten, it’s alright, you’re so fucking lovely, please look at me.” He nudges at Harry’s jaw with his nose until Harry lifts his head and looks at Louis. He’s gorgeous. His eyes are shiny and dark, his mouth is open on a constant whine, and his face a delicious blotchy red. “Fuck,” Louis breathes, suddenly feeling dangerously close as well. “J-just keep looking at me, shit, you’re so beautiful.”

Louis removes his hand from where it’s been glued to Harry’s hip and shakily places it over the bulge of Harry’s cock. “C’n you do it--” but before he finishes his sentence Harry tosses his head back, presses his hips forward, and _comes_.

“Ah, ah, _ah_ ,” Harry is letting out wet little moans, and Louis can feel his cock pulsing right there in his jeans, he’s coming hard , he tell just from the way his dick is jerking with each spurt. Louis uses his other hand to cup Harry’s jaw and bring his head forward. Harry looks at him with hazy eyes and his mouth slack and pleased. The last few pulses of his orgasm, Harry’s brow furrows and his eyes shut, and he bites at his lip. He looks almost like he’s in pain, but the blissful little whimpers assure Louis otherwise. Finally, his face softens and he lets out a quiet little hiccup before sagging against Louis. Louis’ hand is damp and the front of Harry’s jeans are literally soaked through with come. 

“Oh my god,” Louis says blankly. “Oh--oh my god, you’re so. You’re so fucking fit, Jesus _Christ_ ,” he hisses. He wrestles a hand between their bodies, unbuttons and unzips and manages to tug his dick out, squeezing desperately. Harry makes a sleepy little sound, kisses his neck, and then pets over the head of Louis’ cock, gently, almost hesitantly. Louis grabs the back of Harry’s neck, buries his face in Harry’s shoulder and comes so hard he’s shivering when he comes back down. He twitches every time Harry shifts, every centimeter of his skin hyper-sensitive.

There’s come _everywhere_ ; when Harry sits up fully he spots a drop in the hollow of Harry’s throat. Flushing with embarrassment, Louis reaches up to remove it with his thumb. Harry’s hand catches his wrist as he pulls aways and he brings Louis’ thumb forward to taste the come almost curiously--quick kitten licks that make Louis shudder. “Fuck,” he says, because _fuck_.

It’s quiet for a bit while their breathing slows and then Harry says in a slow, syrupy voice. “Why’d you say don’t judge a book by its cover.” There’s no inflection in his voice, just relaxed laziness.

“What.” Louis says back, brain turned to mush.

Harry nuzzles into the bit of skin just below the hinge of his jaw. “In class the other day. After I told you the joke, you said ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’.” He kisses Louis’ throat with wet lips, humming contentedly.

Louis frowns up at the ceiling of his car, trying to remember. He may have come some his brain cells out. Finally, his mind responds and calls up the necessary information. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, stifling a yawn. “You’re so sweet, was surprised cuz you’re so bloody fit. Like, the kind of fit that usually makes people fuckin’ assholes. But you weren’t. You were sweet, and I judged a book by its cover, didn’t I.” He pets Harry’s curls, feeling how silky they are.

Their bodies are cooling down, the sweat on Louis’ skin turning tacky and make him shiver. Harry mouths at his neck for a few more moments. “Mm,” he says, sounding half-asleep. “Guess that makes me the better man, knew you were gold t’minute I saw you.”

Louis buries a smile in Harry’s hair. Everything is starting to feel sticky and gross, and Harry’s body is getting to be heavy on top of his. They’ll need to get back to campus for Harry’s car and then each head home but Harry is making adorable snuffling sounds into Louis’ shoulder and he just...wants a minute longer. 

***

Driving in pants gone stiff with dried come is not a pleasant experience, Harry reflects as he heads home in his own car from campus. It’s so unpleasant, in fact, that he’s not sure anything is worth it. Except for the fact that he has Louis’ number plugged into his phone, and a slow goodnight kiss from Louis still tingling on his lips. Actually, the dried come is worth how he’s feeling right now a million times over. 

Once he arrives at his flat, he tiptoes through the door very carefully. It’s not that late, really, but Niall might be asleep or in the shower and maybe he’ll get away with it. He shuts the door with a click and flicks on the main light and Niall is standing there, arms crossed and an open jar of peanut butter resting on a thick textbook in front of him.

“Nialler!” Harry says, trying for casual. Honestly, it’s not like he’s _hiding_ anything from Niall. He just knows if Niall figures it out he’ll be interrogated until the sun comes up and he’s still basking in the _afterglow_ , dammit. He’s got his messenger bag over his crotch, though, so he thinks he might be getting away with it. 

Niall squints at him, digs a spoon out of their utensil drawer without breaking eye contact, scoops out some peanut butter and stalks over to Harry with it in his mouth. Harry tightens his grip on his messenger bag. Niall can’t possibly see-- 

“ _I_ _s that fucking jizz on your shirt_?” Niall voice is thick from the peanut butter still on his tongue, but the shock comes through anyway.

Harry jerks his chin down and fuck. Yeah, there’s Louis’ come streaked right up the front of his tee. “Um,” he mumbles eloquently. He keeps the messenger bag where it is because he gets the feeling it would only make it worse. Harry looks back up to Niall. “No?” His bedroom door is visible in the hallway, the only thing separating the apartment into living and sleep areas. If he runs, he might be able to escape.

Niall points the spit-slick spoon at Harry. “Did you fuck?”

Hm. There was no penetration, so depending on Niall’s meaning, Harry might not be lying when he says, “No! Um, no. Didn’t fuck. I did _not_ fuck. Like who would I fuck anyway?” If Niall isn’t referring to penetration, and he is an ethics major so his perception of virginity might unfortunately be more progressive, then he’s a fucking liar. Life goes on.

Niall grabs Harry’s elbow and drags him over to the kitchen so he can drop his spoon in the sit and cap the jar of peanut butter. “Oh, I dunno,” Niall say, “but you _did_ get an email from your stats professor saying that you and a certain _Mr. Louis Tomlinson_ , were to meet with her during her office hours this coming Tuesday. And that you wouldn’t be making up the exam the both of you had been _dismissed_ from this afternoon.” Before Harry can bitch about Niall hacking into his email _again_ when he’s bored, Niall starts honest-to-god tapping his foot. “So, I’ll ask again. Did you fuck? Louis From Statistics?”

At that precise moment Harry’s phone chirps with the custom text tone Harry had programmed Louis’ contact to when they’d exchanged numbers. It is suddenly, achingly real that the boy he’s been drooling after all semester just got off with him and it was the first time he’s ever gotten off _with_ someone in his 20 years of living. And this is best friend staring at him, waiting for him to spill the goddamn beans. “ _Niall_ ,” Harry gushes. “He has the _best_ face when he comes, you wouldn’t believe it. Like, we got kicked out of our exam because our professor doesn’t appreciate knock knock jokes, and _then_ we had dinner together and he told me his favorite alcoholic drink which obviously means something, you know? And _then_ Niall! He made me come in my pants in his car, look--” he lifts his messenger bag and presents his stiff come-soaked jeans to Niall, who visibly blanches, “--so then he pulls his dick out, right, and I touch his dick, oh my god, and he came! All over me! And then we cuddled!” Harry bounces on his toes at the memory. “Niall, I think I’m in love with him,” he sighs. 

“Holy shit,” Niall says. 

“I _know_ ,” Harry squeals, beaming so hard his cheeks hurt.

Niall stares at him for a moment and then sighs and holds out his arm, “Alright, alright come here. _Keep the jizz off me though_.” Harry strips off his shirt for good measure and hugs his best friend, because fuck yeah, he exchanged orgasms with someone for the first time.

His phone chirps again, reminding him that he hasn’t opened Louis’ text, and he jumps in Niall’s arms. “That’s him!” He stage whispers into Niall’s neck.

“Then what the fuck’re you hanging onto me for, mate?” Niall says indignantly, pushing Harry off of him. “What did he say, Haz? Lemme see! And get your jizz shirt off my fucking kitchen floor.” Harry scoops up the shirt and slings it over his shoulder before tugging his phone out of his back pocket.

_Louis, 10:19pm: You’re still lovely!_

“So can I marry him?” He asks Niall dreamily, shoving the phone under his nose so he can read the text. Niall squints at the message and then his face does a funny series of muscle twitches before he looks at Harry with a content expression.

“I’ll be your best man, mate,” Niall tells him, patting Harry’s cheek. “Take a shower.” He grabs yet another one of his dauntingly thick books from the counter and ambles off to his room.

Harry stares at his phone until the screen dims, then taps it so it lights up again and continues to stare at it. His fingers itch to type _I love you_ but even he’s not that ridiculous. Finally, he settles for _you’re incredible_ , and then heads to the bathroom for a shower before passing out on his bed. 

***

Louis misses Harry. It’s ridiculous because it’s only been two days but like, he misses Harry. Harry’s as fun to text as he is to talk to but the stark white of his screen doesn’t bite its lip, or smirk a smirk that isn’t a smirk at all, or nudge Louis’ ankle with a boot. His phone doesn’t offer up giggles to pair with the several knock knock jokes Harry’s already sent, and his phone doesn’t have soft, warm skin and a slow, deep voice. Louis misses Harry.

So, it’s Saturday afternoon and Liam is out...doing something and Louis is alone, stretched out on the loveseat. He should be studying but he’s thinking about Harry instead. It’s been a few hours since they last exchanged texts, and Louis doesn’t _do_ phone calls but he finds himself opening Harry’s contact and tapping his number and listening to it ring. It’s almost to the final ring when Harry’s voice cuts through. “Louis?” The phone’s speaker doesn’t do Harry’s voice justice, and he sounds a little hesitant, but it’s enough.

“Hey!” Louis says, a little wildly because what the fuck is he doing? “Uh...y’know, in the summer, when you wanna cool off you go and get some ice cream, yeah? But I was just thinking that there’s nothing you go and get when it’s autumn and you’re freezing your tits off, innit?”

There’s coughing noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle from Harry’s end. “I dunno,” Harry muses. “Hot cocoa is nice when it’s cold.”

Louis is struck with an image of Harry giggling while clutching a steaming mug of hot chocolate, ears and nose pink and eyes sparkling. Jesus. Louis has never _fallen_ this hard this fast. “But you don’t just go and get hot cocoa by your lonesome, do you?” Louis remarks, hopefully casually. “Even with ice cream, it’s not like you see a bloke going by himself to an ice cream parlor or summat. And I’ve never seen a bloke by himself at a coffee shop with some hot cocoa. So now what I am supposed to do?” He’s so full of shit, blowing absolute smoke out of his arse.

Harry laughs into the phone but before Louis can panic that he’s made too much of an ass of himself Harry says, “Are you asking me out on a hot cocoa date, Louis?”

Louis knocks his head back against the armrest of the couch, smiling like a fool. “I’ve no clue where you got that idea,” he says loftily. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” He pauses and presses his hand over his eyes, overwhelmed by himself. “Can I pick you up for some hot chocolate, Harry?” He says it softly and gently.

There’s a quiet breath over the line and then Harry is saying, “Let me drive this time. And I’ll take you to this place near my flat, they’ve these syrups you can put in your cocoa. I’ll show you my favorites, yeah?” He’s so sweet and lovely, even over the phone.

Louis rambles out his address and waits for Harry to hang up before jumping off the sofa and heading for the shower, because shit, he’s still in the sweats he slept in and he probably smells. He wonders what kind of syrup Harry likes in his cocoa; something extraordinarily sweet, he’s sure. 

***

When Harry pulls up outside Louis’ flat complex he sees him crouching on the ground, and it looks as though he’s talking. Bemused, Harry parks and approaches Louis carefully, who doesn’t acknowledge him until he holds up one finger to Harry and then brings it to his mouth. _Shh_. Even more curious, Harry stops in his tracks and tries to crane his neck to see what the fuck Louis is doing. 

“Sushi,” Louis is cooing, “c’mon, little one. Didn’t I give my you my leftover eggs this morning? Those were _good_ eggs. Liam cooked them, not me. I could have finished those eggs but I gave the last bits to you, didn’t I? Sushi, you _owe_ me.” He makes a squeaky kissing sound and like magic, a tiny pink nose pokes out from under the shrub. It’s slowly followed by one cream-colored paw, a second, and then there’s a beautiful little cat, the color of light brown sugar purring in Louis’ arms.

“You named them Sushi?” Harry laughs, endeared beyond belief.

Louis stands up and turns to Harry, “Yeah, found her in near the dumpster over there,” he gestures vaguely to somewhere across the complex, “when she was just a kitten last semester. In May, I think it was. _I_ wanted to take her in but _Liam_ bitched and moaned about allergies so I just keep an eye on her from here. I worry about her a lot, you know, ‘specially since it’s winter coming up and that. I‘ve thought about finding her a home, but I’d want her to be somewhere I could visit her, think she’s grown quite attached to me. I _do_ give her eggs, you know.” Louis sighs and scratches under the tiny cat’s chin.

Harry feels close to tears. He wants to have Louis’ _babies_ ; if it were biologically possible he’d propose it right now. “ _Louis_ ,” he says.

“D’you want to pet her?” Louis asks innocently, unaware of the emotional turmoil he’s stirred up in Harry. He nods, afraid to open his mouth.

Louis shuffles closer to Harry so that the little cat is able to sniff Harry’s chest inquisitively. Slowly, Harry brings a finger up to the cat’s nose, waits until she’s inspected it and then strokes the soft fur of her forehead before spreading out his whole hand to pet her back. His palm nearly dwarfs her whole torso. A buzzing sound starts from her chest and it quickly turns into a loud purring.

“Fuck,” Louis says, sounding impressed. “She’s never taken to anyone that quickly. Look at that, she’s head over heels and it’s been two minutes.” Harry lets his hand fall and Louis bends his head down to the cat. “Me too, little one, but he’s _mine_.” Harry feels a raging blush spread to his face so quickly it nearly hurts. Louis kisses her head and then bends to let Sushi jump from his arms and slink back under the shrubs. “Make good choices!” He calls, shaking his head.

“So,” Louis grins at Harry. “Where’s this source of your magical hot chocolate?”

Harry gapes at. _He’s mine_. “Um,” he chokes out dumbly. _He’s mine_.

“Harry,” Louis frowns, “are you alright?” He steps forward and cups Harry’s cheek, looking into his eyes concernedly.

“No! I mean, yes!” Harry blurts. “I’m fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine.” Oh god, he needs to shut up. Desperately, he presses his mouth to Louis’, a clumsy kiss that Louis calms down quickly.

“Oh,” Louis smirks, once they pull away from each other. “It’s like that then?” Louis fiddles with his fringe and bites his lip. _Well_ , it’s certainly like that now. Harry wants to drop to his knees right then and there.

Since it appears to be on the table now, Harry grins and brushes his hand against Louis’ collarbones, exposed over the scoop neck of his speckled blue knit jumper. “It’s always like that, with you,” Harry teases, feeling pleased when Louis blushes. “Let’s go for that hot cocoa then, yeah? Since you’re freezing your tits off, right?”

Louis pouts and smacks Harry’s bicep lightly. “Better be some damn good syrup, Styles.”

***

Harry is dressed in a lavender, baggy jumper and is breath-takingly gorgeous, as per usual, and the little shop he’s taken them to seems to complement that beauty too well for Louis’ self-preservation. It’s done in various shades of brown and caramels and creams, cozy and very much a cliche of a coffee shop. Louis can’t bring himself to care.

They’ve sat down with their cocoas (Harry’s with hazelnut and Louis’ with peppermint) and Harry is too lovely for Louis to cope. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his lilac jumper his and begun to recount the stories behind his many tattoos for Louis, who had been too busy thinking about making Harry come, and then actually doing it their last date, to ask about them. “And I’ve got my sister’s initial on my shoulder, and ah, some other pieces other places,” he finishes, vaguely and making Louis’ heart speed up. _Other places_.

“Well, they’re wonderful,” Louis tells him honestly. He traces over the padlock on Harry’s wrist. “Even the ones like this,” he teases.

“Hey,” Harry says indignantly. He scowls and takes a sip of his cocoa, smacking his lips. “Let’s see yours then, if you’re so pretentious.”

Louis shrugs his sleeves back and Harry gloats when he gets to the skateboarding figure. “Even the ones like this,” he mocks, his dimple digging a crater into his cheek. “You’ve got a lot of extra room there,” Harry observes, “since you have so many others, I dunno, looks a bit purposeful, those empty spots.”

Louis raises his brows. “You do as well, love.”

“Mine’s for, um,” Harry averts his eyes. “In case someone wants to get like, matching pieces or something.” He coughs. “‘s probably dumb, but you know. Just--just in case.”

Louis hums. “And what if I told you that’s me too, still dumb?” He’s not lying; he heart flutters because what the hell? That’s uncanny. (Unless it’s not and Louis is reading too much into it. He doesn’t care if he is.)

Harry blushes and drinks some more hot cocoa. There’s whipped cream on his lip when he pulls the mug away. Harry opens his mouth to speak and Louis tips forward to kiss him first. The whipped cream is sweet, but Harry’s mouth tastes like hazelnut and it’s much sweeter. 

“You had, uh,” Louis explains once he pulls away, gesturing to his own mouth.

“Oh,” Harry breathes, blinking a little. “Thanks.”

It’s silent for a moment until Harry says, “Did you get the email about stats?”

They haven’t discussed statistics at all, actually. Too caught up in each other, he supposes. Louis leans back in his chair. “Yeah,” he nods. “‘It’s too bad about the exam, but it doesn’t seem like we’re getting booted out of the class, or the uni, yeah?” 

“Definitely,” Harry agrees. “I bet it was because she wants to know the end of my joke,” his eyes sparkle. “She kicks me out of class, she’ll never get the punchline." 

Louis tilts his head back and laughs, and then looks at Harry who’s smiling smugly. “Yeah, Harry,” Louis says. “‘m sure that’s what it is.” He nudges Harry’s ankle with his foot.

Harry ducks his head. “You’re the only one who laughs at my jokes, you know. I know they’re terrible, you don’t have to listen to them if you don’t want to.” His voice is small.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, heart clenching. “I like your jokes. I like _you_. I’ll listen to as many as you’ll tell me, because I want to.” He reaches across the table, awkward angle be damned, and tips Harry’s chin up with his fingers, running his thumb over Harry’s lower lip once he looks up. “Tell me another one,” he says, voice playfully demanding. “Go on, you bragged about having so many, show one off for me.”

Harry scrunches his nose, and hums thoughtfully. Louis takes a sip of his peppermint cocoa, which is truthfully very good. “Alright!” Harry says, perky and pretty, a clever glint in his eyes. “Knock knock,” he giggles.

“Who’s there?” Louis says easily, smiling already.

“Cow says.”

“Cow says who?” Louis tangles his fingers with Harry’s.

“No, a cow says _moo_!” Harry delivers with relish, pink in the face and absolutely beautiful. 

Louis laughs and he doesn’t even have to fake it; he laughs because he’s happy, because Harry is sweet and funny and smart and he somehow wants Louis. It’s incredible. He nudges Harry’s ankle again. “That was brilliant,” he tells Harry. “You’re brilliant.” Harry bites his lip and glances away bashfully. “This cocoa is brilliant, too,” Louis offers.

“I told you!” Harry crows triumphantly. “I’ve never had the peppermint, though,” he admits, looking vaguely curious.

“That’s because you like things sweet,” Louis says, taking a quick gulp of the last remains of his cocoa and swallowing hastily. “Here,” he says, “have a taste.” Eagerly, Harry moves forward to take Louis’ mug but instead Louis catches him by his chin and kisses him, deep and thorough. Harry makes a soft little noise and then opens up his mouth for Louis easily, tongue slick and pliant against Louis’ own.

Harry tastes like hazelnut but Louis determinedly licks into his mouth until even that is gone. He starts to pull away, mouth feeling a bit sore, but Harry whines and cups the back of his neck, nibbling on his lip. Louis shivers, tucks his foot behind one of Harry’s calves, and kisses him until there’s a very pointed cough from somewhere behind him. He forces himself to draw away from Harry, who sits back looking thoroughly debauched, just from a bit of kissing.

“If I told you I was hard right now,” Harry says, slowly, voice like molasses, “what would you do?”

Louis mouth drops open but before he can reply, there’s someone very loudly clearing their throat behind him and then a tsk-ing sound. Harry is staring at him plaintively, clearly uncaring. “I...would say that I haven’t seen your place even though you’ve seen mine, and maybe now’s a good time to remedy that,” Louis’ voice sounds much calmer than he feels, and he finds himself staring at the pale expanse of Harry’s neck. “If you’d like,” he adds.

“Yes, yes,” Harry murmurs, standing up awkwardly. Louis can _see_ how hard he is again, straining against his pants just like Thursday. _Fuck,_  is Harry always this sensitive, this easy to rile up? Louis is not complaining, if that’s the case.

He’s aware of the public nature of their surroundings and he jumps up to stand in front of Harry, taking his hand and keeping him close as they leave the shop. Harry is twitchy and walks them in the wrong direction of the parking lot twice before they finally get to his car. 

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, pressing him against the passenger’s door. “You’re alright.” He kisses Harry’s throat, noses the thin, pale skin there. “Just get us to your flat, and I’ll give you whatever you want. You’re so hard, kitten, I know,” he soothes. “It’s alright, c’mon, let’s go.”

Harry moans whole-heartedly and buries his face in Louis’ shoulder before nodding and fumbling for his keys to unlock the car. Louis pats his bum before climbing into the car and shutting the door. Harry slips into the driver’s seat and Louis watches him take several deep breaths before starting the car and backing out.

“Whatever you want,” Louis reminds him, his own voice unsteady and his own dick hard enough to hurt. 

Harry glances at him with big eyes briefly. “I want _everything_.”

***

Harry has driven with a boner before, he thinks probably a lot of people have at least once in their lives. Shit happens. Harry has never driven, however, with a _raging_ boner and the source of that boner next to him in the passenger seat. His flat is blessedly only a few short minutes from the shop, but it’s still painful enough to know he never wants to drive that way again.

Niall is visiting home this weekend, because Harry has decent luck sometimes, and his only reservation about bringing Louis into the flat is the state it’s in. Louis gives him a look, though, a look that suddenly brings up the memory of Louis saying _like I want you_. Louis’ looking at him like he wants him and the embarrassment of laundry strewn across the flat and Niall’s growing stack of peanut butter spoons in the sink is worth whatever he’s about to get from Louis.

Unfortunately, Harry has not-so-decent luck sometimes and his hands are shaking so much he can’t get his own door unlocked. It’s probably very un-sexy but Louis only kisses his neck and takes the key from him and lets them into Harry’s flat himself. The second the door is shut, Harry turns to beg Louis for something , but Louis is mercifully already on him, pressing him up against the wall near the door and getting a hand in his hair, snogging him until his legs are jelly.

“What do you want?” Louis’ murmuring into the kiss, stroking his fingertips across the skin above Harry’s jeans. “Tell me,” Louis says, dragging his mouth to Harry’s ear. “Tell me what you like, I'll give it to you Harry, tell me how to make you _come_.”

Harry gasps, turning his head to the side and clutching uselessly at Louis’ waist. “I--I,” he stutters out, moaning when Louis unbuttons and unbuckles his jeans and stroke his cock through his briefs. “Louis,” he begs.

“Tell me,” Louis moans, wedging a leg a between Harry’s. “Please, baby, tell me what you like, what do you want me to do to you?” He thumbs over the head of Harry’s dick.

Harry knees are threatening to give out. “I don’t,” he whines, turning his head to capture Louis’ mouth with his own, snogging him until his eyes begin to water. “I’ve never,” he whispers hopelessly against Louis’ lips.

Louis pauses abruptly, just the way Harry feared he would. “Harry?” He murmurs, looking at him with furrow between his brows.

Sighing, he thumps his head back against the wall. “I--,” he starts, frustrated. “Thursday was my first time ever--like, being with someone.” He supposes it's best that it's out there now; it’s not like he's been--saving this for any particular reason, there's no barrier to cross, and in fact he wouldn't mind losing his virginity right goddamn now, to his statistics classmate he barely knows. He _wants_ it. But he also knows that this is important to some people--that they know they're...deflowering him. 

Louis looks thrown, startled out of words, but only for a moment. “But--but you’re bloody, I dunno, you're bloody _Harry_. Fuck, look at you, why--?” Louis pauses. “Are you--are you, um. Is this important to you, Harry? Am I taking anything from you?” His voice is very quiet.

Harry sighs, rolls his hips slightly because like, he’s still hard. “No, Louis,” he says earnestly. “It just, it never worked out that way, really. I've, you know, snogged people. No one’s ever, um. Fuck, Louis I’m 20-years-old and I know it doesn't really matter but I'd rather be getting laid than not, and preferably by you, if you'll have me.”

Louis brings both hands up to cup Harry’s face--if his dick could pout, it would--and rubs his thumbs over Harry’s cheeks. “Of course I'll have you,” Louis says, with a fondness Harry wouldn't expect on the second date, “I’d’ve like to have known sooner, only because I feel guilty for throwing myself at you like that.” Harry opens his mouth to protest but Louis soldiers on. “I meant throwing myself at you like I expected you to keep up with me, no questions asked. If you don't want your  virginity to be some grand gesture of deflowerment,” Louis smirks, “it doesn't have to be, but I'd still...like to take care of you, just a bit. If you'll have me,” he adds on.

Harry lets out a shaky breath and nods quickly. “Yeah, okay, yeah,” he says, shaking slightly. “I want you,” he tells Louis earnestly. “I _want_ you.” He's not sure if Louis understands; that Harry means this isn't driven by his virginity, that he wants Louis _because_ he wants Louis. He’s attracted to Louis, he wants to have sex with Louis and not because of his virginity. “I want _you_ ,” Harry repeats, pushing his hips up to emphasize.

His dick is still hard and it twitches when Louis moves his hand back to cup it. “ _Yes_ ,” he hisses out, rocking his hips again.

“Shit,” Louis breathes, “I know you do, fuck. Look at you.” He drags his thumb down the length of Harry’s cock before squeezing it firmly through his briefs. “I want you too, baby. I do. I--I want you too much, I think.” He draws Harry’s cock out of his briefs and starts to stroke slowly. “Tuesday, when you told me that joke about the pencil? When I went home I got off _three_ times thinking about your mouth,” Louis laughs. “Can you believe that? Came my brains out every time, too. Fuck.” His voice trails off and he jerks Harry faster. 

Harry moans, pumping his hips into Louis’ fist helplessly. “Louis,” he chokes out, thrashing when Louis strokes over his slit. It’s so _good_ , this is so good, fuck, Harry can’t believe how fucking good it is.

“I know it's good, kitten,” Louis murmurs. Harry must have been speaking out loud. “You have a _gorgeous_ cock,” Louis says appreciatively. “Look at that,” he says, when Harry starts to drip precome. He drags the fingers of his other hand across one of Harry’s hips. “And this is a fern, then? Is this the piece you mentioned earlier, about being in _other places_?”

“Oh fuck,” Harry grits out, before he whines embarrassingly high-pitched. “‘m gonna come,” he says frantically. “Oh god, I can’t--Louis, I’m gonna come. I’m sorry, _oh_.” He’s fucking his hips up erratically, gasping and clutching at Louis desperately.

Louis tucks a curl behind Harry’s hair with his free hand. “Why are you sorry, baby? You're so fucking fit, gonna be gorgeous when you come.”

Harry knees actually buckle and he starts to sink down the wall. Louis falters for only a moment before following him down, kneeling between Harry’s parted legs and jerking him even harder. Harry gasps suddenly and his hips freeze and he arches up painfully, staring at Louis as the pressure in his pelvis peaks. “Oh,” he hears himself moan in a tiny voice.

“That’s it,” Louis soothes, “come on, come on.” Harry can feel his cock jerk in Louis’ grip, and then there's ropes of come shooting up between them, punching out of his cock, each with a pulse in his balls. Louis jerks him through it, kisses his neck, his lips while he moans loudly, embarrassingly.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, “that's so good, kitten. Come on, give it all to me, there you go.” Harry’s cock dribbles a bit more, thick come sliding over Louis’ fingers and down his own his dick.

Harry whimpers when he’s done, the relief almost as good as the orgasm itself. Louis lets go of his dick and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Christ,” Louis says, quietly and meaningfully.

Harry fumbles to pat at the front of Louis’ jeans, still orgasm-clumsy. The second he bumps over the bulge of Louis’ cock, Louis’ entire body jolts. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, “you don't have to--”

“Do you want me to?” Harry murmurs. “Louis, do you _want_ me to?” He noses Louis’ shoulder. “Just tell me if you want me to.”

Louis bites Harry’s neck gently, rolling his hips forward. He moans lowly and says, “ _Y_ _es_ , Harry I want you to but only--only if you want--”

Harry cuts him off by hurriedly getting Louis’ dick out his jeans and pants, and eagerly wrapping a hand around it. He sucks in a breath when he finally does and gives it one experimental stroke. He'd seen it Thursday night but only a glimpse. Now he can admire the full length of it, the thickness, the shine of the wet tip. “Is it bad that my mouth is watering because I want it in my mouth right now?” Harry asks, all inhibition gone.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Louis moans, finally lifting his head up to look at Harry. “D-Don't just say shit like that, fuck ,” Louis stutters before his mouth goes slack. Harry tugs a little faster and feels his toes curl when Louis rocks his hips forward in response.

Harry tilts his head, thinking about something Louis had said. “You got off three times? I got off four, you know. Wanna know what I was thinking about?” Louis’ dick twitches in his grasp and Harry shivers. “First time, I was so worked up I thought about kissing you and shot off so hard it hit my chin. Second time, thought about sucking you off during class, had to shove three of my own fingers in my mouth because I wanted it so bad.” Louis moans and wraps a hand around the one Harry has on his cock, encouraging him to go faster. “Third time,” Harry says breathlessly, “I thought about you coming on my face. _Twice_ , so I was dripping with it. Fourth time, thought about you fucking me, face down, arse up, making me really take it. I came so hard I almost cried, fuck. That's what I want,” Harry finishes.

“I’m going to,” Louis gasps, choking on his words, “ _ruin_ you,” he gets out before he's finally fucking coming onto Harry’s jumper, over their joined hands, dripping down onto Harry’s spent cock. It’s so fucking hot, Louis’ unbearably gorgeous, eyebrows knit and mouth open on a whine, tan skin slick and flushed.

“Give it to me,” Harry breathes, bringing a hand up to squeeze gently at Louis’ balls as he finishes. At his touch, Louis pulses out two more strong jets of come before it slows and he drools out just a few drops of come and moans quietly. 

Louis slowly relaxes, his body splaying out a bit over Harry’s thigh. “Holy shit,” he says in a tiny voice, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

 “‘s that why people make such a big deal about sex? That what I've been missing?” Harry asks, stroking the sweaty hair off Louis’ forehead.

“No,” Louis responds, head still spinning. “This was--this was better.”

***

Sex with Harry changed Louis’ life. Handjobs in the inside of the entrance to Harry’s flat changed Louis’ life, to be exact. Slumped over Harry, letting himself be petted after a mind-blowing orgasm, Louis had never wanted to move ever again in his life, except to possibly get Harry off the minute he was ready again. And then, like magic, their stomachs had growled together. It was nearing 7 o’clock and their bodies were insisting upon food.

After they’d peeled off their clothing and changed into a couple pairs of Harry’s boxers, Harry had produced a Tupperware of leftover pasta from his fridge, which was alarming well-stocked. “Niall,” Harry had explained with a wave of his hand.

They're on the couch now, with the nature channel on and empty plates resting on the coffee table. Harry’s got his head in his lap, so that Louis can stroke his curls and pet his throat occasionally. “You remind me of Sushi,” Louis remarks, scrunching his nose. “You'd be purring if you could, right now.”

Harry’s too relaxed to do much more than give a small twitch of his mouth. “Is that why you call me kitten, then?”

Louis flushes as Harry turns his body so that he can stare up at Louis more easily. “I dunno,” Louis says, shifting. “Does it bother you?” He hopes not because it'll be difficult for him to stop, it rolls off his tongue so naturally.

“No,” Harry says simply, grabbing Louis’ hand. “I like it, makes me feel...special.” He offers a shy smile and a one shouldered shrug.

“You are special,” Louis replies automatically, squeezing Harry’s hand. “You're lovely, kitten,” he says, smiling playfully.

“Stay here tonight,” Harry says suddenly, and his palm has gone sweaty against Louis’. “It’s just--it’s getting late, and Niall is out of town, and um.” Harry rolls his eyes. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

Louis’ heart skips a beat. His belly is full from good pasta, his muscles are relaxed from good sex, his chest is warm from a good boy; a beautiful boy who he’s falling for way, way too fast. “Yeah,” he says, melting when he sees the relief and happiness in Harry’s eyes. “Yeah, alright.” 

Harry rolls to press his face into Louis’ belly. Louis pets him some more, thinking that he was wrong before, _this_ is where he never wants to move from. Eventually though, Harry starts to kiss his way up Louis’ torso until he’s kneeling precariously at the edge of the couch. Knowing Harry’s coordination, or lack thereof, Louis grabs his hips to keep him steady. Harry smiles at him, all rosy cheeks and dimples. “To bed then?”

It _is_ late and Harry is looking soft and like a dream--tantalizing temptation for sleep, really. “Yeah, babe,” he agrees. “Bed.”

Harry clumsily gets up on his feet and wiggles his hand at Louis, pulling him up and padding them over to what is presumably his own room. There's a full size bed, a nightstand, and cluttered desk, some posters of classic rock bands and not much else. There _are_ fairy lights around the perimeter of the ceiling, and strung across his headboard. “Um, so this is it. You know. It's a bedroom,” Harry says nervously. Louis snorts and kisses Harry’s cheek to soften the blow.

“You got a toothbrush I can use, sweetheart?” It's a long shot since, being a virgin ( _fuck_ ), Harry likely isn't stocked with the one-stand basics that most people who have sex more regularly are apt to keep.

“Actually,” Harry says, grinning. “Niall thinks he's a Casanova and keeps a whole bunch under our bathroom sink.” Harry grins wider. “He hasn't brought someone home since last semester. He got the newest batch of toothbrushes last week. I think he’s hoping it'll be like a good luck charm for him.” 

Louis laughs. “I'd like to meet Niall,” he chuckles. “Sounds like a man with dreams and determination.”

Harry nods seriously. “He's an ethics major. And a slob. Bit of a right pig too, but he revels in it.” Louis is still laughing when Harry leads them to the bathroom and rummages under the sink, before pulling out a bright yellow toothbrush for Louis.

He shows him the toothpaste and mouthwash before shuffling out and leaving Louis to his devices. When Louis walks out of the bathroom, Harry steps into it himself and brushes his own teeth while Louis lingers in the hallway.

When they’ve both finished and walk back to Harry’s room, Harry stops to kiss him soundly. “Just…” Harry murmurs against his lips. “Can't believe I’m not dreaming.”

“But you _will_ be,” Louis quips. “Rather soon.”

Harry steps away. “You ruined it,” he whines, though he’s beaming like Louis’ told him he won the lottery. “Shut up and spoon me,” he demands before crawling into his bed and patting beside him.

More inviting an offer Louis has not received. He slips into the bed as Harry turns off the light on his nightstand, and wiggles under the covers with him, waiting until he flips onto his side to press himself around Harry, slinging an arm around his side. He noses at the soft, soft hair behind Harry’s in ear and breathes him in.

It’s silent, and Louis has just begun to doze when Harry speaks up, in a small voice. “Lou?”

“Hmm?” Louis responds pressing a lazy kiss to Harry’s ear.

“Will you remember me in a day?” 

Louis frowns, too sleepy to ask Harry what this is about, so he just answers the question. “Yeah, baby. Of course.”

“Will you remember me in a week?”

Louis pats Harry’s tummy. “Yes.”

“Will you remember me in a year?” There's a lilt to Harry’s voice now that Louis’ brain is too foggy to try to decipher. 

“Yes, Harry. I promise I’ll remember you.”

There's a pause, where he can only hear Harry’s soft breathing and then: “Lou?” 

“Harry?”

Harry’s voice is unmistakably full of a smile now. “Knock knock.”

Caught entirely off guard, Louis answers, “Who’s there?”

Harry tugs Louis’ hand up to his mouth and presses a soft little laugh into it. “See? You've forgotten me already.” He's giggling but he’s also trying to make himself smaller, fit into Louis’ arms even more.   

Louis huffs an indignant chuckle. “Never. I’ll never forget you.”

***

When Harry wakes up, he's plastered to Louis’ side, one thigh slung over Louis’ right hip. His head is pillowed on Louis’ right shoulder, and Louis’ left hand is wrapped around the forearm Harry’s got over his chest. He's not sure how they ended up like this; he'd gotten up once in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and had come back and snuggled up as Louis’ little spoon. He’s not complaining, though. All in all, it's a wonderfully pleasant way to wake up. 

His dick is also throbbing against Louis’ side. Like, it’s painful and begging for attention. He whines and refuses to let himself hump Louis like an animal in heat. _Manners_. In defense of his dick though, he’s not used to waking up to a warm body instead of his cool sheets and the prospect of a routine morning wank. Harry can't blame his dick for getting a little overexcited. He’s trying to decide what to do: do sex partners usually wake each other in the morning on the basis of morning arousal? He doesn’t know; he feels like he should have learned this at some point, it’s feeling much more vital than his high school algebra.

Thankfully, Louis makes a snuffling sound, stretches and then cranes his neck to glance sleepily at Harry. “Hey, love,” he says, all gravelly morning voice. It's so endearing Harry forgets about dick long enough to kiss Louis’ forehead, then his nose, and finally his mouth. Morning breath seems such a petty thing to complain about when there's soft press of a gentle mouth and the content rumble of a pleased hum to greet him; people who bitch about morning breath are weak, and missing out, he thinks.

“Morning, sunshine,” Harry laughs once he pulls away, lifting his hand from Louis’ chest to scratch at his stubble, which he doesn't appear to shaved or trimmed since Tuesday. Louis stretches again and shifts his body more towards Harry; the movement quite suddenly brings the focus back to his dick. He sucks in a breath.

“Oh,” Louis titters, “good dreams, then?” He rolls Harry over onto his back and brings his knees up, spreading them apart so he can hover over Harry between them. Before Harry can retort, Louis brings his hips down against Harry’s own and _oh_ , indeed. He's hard too.

Louis nods when sees how Harry’s eyes have widened. “S’pose you don't know about morning sex,” he murmurs. “Poor baby, you've missed out on so much.” Harry’s breath hitches but he wants to ask about morning sex. “D’you wanna know about morning sex?” Louis teases, rolling his hips purposefully against Harry’s. Harry nods fervently, letting out a wet gasp.

“Is it--good?” Harry chokes out, eyes rolling back when Louis tucks a hand under one of Harry’s knees and pushes his leg up for a better angle.

“Mm,” Louis confirms. “I think it’s cos you've been hard for who knows how long during the night, and you're getting all that tension out.” He leans down to nibble on Harry’s ear. “But my favorite part,” he whispers, “is how much _come_ there is. So much, all over. More than any other time,” he pauses. “Except if there's a kinky cause, of course. But that's another lesson.”

Harry tosses his head back. “ _Fuck_.”

“Fuck,” Louis agrees. “And you, baby, already come an impressive amount regularly it seems. Can't wait to see what you've got for me in the morning.” He thumbs over one of Harry’s nipples. “Know what else?” He asks, waiting for Harry to shake his head before continuing. “In the morning, _I_ like how come tastes, see. I've been told that's rather dirty, but I _love_ it. Strong, thick, stays in my mouth for a while.”

Harry feels like he might die. “ _JesusChristLouis_ ,” he blurts out, like it’s a single word. His dick is drooling, making his boxers sticky and uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, and then he’s letting Harry’s legs drop and shimmying down his body. Oh god. “Will you let me…?” Louis looks up at him plaintively, breath ghosting over Harry’s dick through his boxers.

As if Harry would ever say no. “ _Louis_ ,” he moans. “Yes, fuck yes.”

Louis lets out a breath and pushes at Harry’s hips until he gets the picture and sits up against the headboard. Louis moans and pets Harry’s cock through his boxers. “You're so drippy, kitten,” he says, like it’s the best thing in the world. “I love it.” He tugs off Harry’s boxers and mouths wetly across Harry’s hips and pelvis; everywhere except his dick.

“Lou,” Harry pleads, watching his dick jump on its own. “I need it.”

Louis flicks those blue blue blue eyes up to him and then looks down at his cock before licking a fat stripe up the underside. Harry has to shove a fist in his mouth to keep from screaming. Fuck, but that’s _good_.

There's a strangled sound from Louis, who’s licking feverishly at all the sticky precome that’s drooled out onto his cock and abdomen. “Harry,” he’s saying. “So good, that’s so fucking good.” Harry whimpers and brings a hand up to comb through Louis’ hair.

Louis finally looks up at him. “You'll like this, baby, and you're gonna come really fast, probably,” he says it matter-of-factly, not as dirty talk. “Just go ahead and come whenever you want, don’t be embarrassed.” He smirks. “I promise I want it.”

Harry gapes at him but before he can respond, Louis’ _mouth_ is around his dick, it’s all slick heat, wet suction, sinking down, down, down on his cock before pulling back up. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, _oh my god_ ,” Harry’s babbling, arching his back clawing at the sheets with the hand that’s not in Louis’ hair. He slaps that hand over his mouth, because the noises coming out of it are absolutely mortifying. Louis makes what sounds like a groan around Harry’s cock and Harry flings up hand from his mouth to clutch the headboard behind him. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Harry moans, his eyes rolling back as Louis sucks _tighter_ , bobs his head faster. Then he’s pulling off of his cock, tonguing at Harry’s slit and swallowing him back down without a beat. Harry’s balls tighten quickly and so forcefully it almost hurts. His knees tuck up slightly around Louis and hips start shifting restlessly. “Louis--”

Louis pulls off and says, “Just let me have it, kitten.” His voice is throaty and he presses his tongue up just under the head of Harry’s cock before swallowing him down and bringing a hand up to massage Harry’s tense balls.

Harry slams his head back, bucks his hips up, and moans, “Coming--” just as his balls tug up forcefully and he starts fucking _coming_ , so fucking hard, so fucking good. “Ah, ah, ah,” he hears himself distantly. The wet heat is being drawn off his cock but he can't bring himself to care because he's still fucking coming.

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Louis is moaning, and Harry thinks that’s his tongue, his lips, mouthing all around the head of his cock and he just keeps spurting, can’t fucking stop. “So much,” Louis is murmuring, jerking him through it and squeezing his balls lightly, every trick in the book to prolong his orgasm. Harry eyes start to water, the pleasure overwhelming. 

Finally, finally, finally his back falls down to the bed and he looks down to Louis. His cock is still dribbling out weak bits of come, and Louis is licking every drop up like a starving man. There’s come on Louis’ shoulders, on his neck, his chin; there’s more come on Harry’s thighs and hips, but with each lick Harry can see the pearly glint of come pooled in Louis’ mouth.

Louis crawls up his body and just barely parts his lips over Harry’s, raising his eyebrows in question. Heat rushing through his body and making his spent cock twitch, Harry drops his mouth open and Louis presses his lips over his own, before opening them slowly and dipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Shit, that’s _Harry’s come_ slipping from _Louis’ mouth_ into his own. It’s incredibly dirty and it makes Harry shiver. Louis kisses him like that a while longer, slick mouth dragging over his own slowly, sensually.

“It’s good,” Louis finally murmurs against his lips. “You were so good.”

All Harry did was come so hard he actually saw stars, but Louis has pulled back and is looking at him with such satisfaction that he can’t even argue. “Thank you,” he says instead, surprised at the raspiness of his own voice. It occurs to him that like, reciprocation is a thing so he reaches down to touch Louis but Louis’ already got his boxers down and a hand around himself.

“Harry,” he moans, voice strained. “I’m gonna come, c’n I--" 

Harry scrambles to bring himself lower on the bed, so that Louis’ cock in in front of his face. “On my face,” he begs. “Please, I've thought about it, please get it on me.”

And Louis _does_ , he grasps Harry’s hair and whines and comes all over Harry’s face. He shuts his eyes and basks in it. It’s warm and wet, and Louis was right, there’s a _lot_ in the morning. By the time Louis’ finished there’s enough that it’s actually dripping down his face. Louis’ thumb swipes shakily over his eyelids and Harry opens them. “Oh, hell,” Louis breathes, shakily.

Harry tentatively licks over his lips, swipes up bitter salty come with his tongue, and before he can swallow it, Louis leans down to kiss it out of his mouth. He licks up the rest of it from Harry’s face, which should be weird, maybe, but it really, really isn't. Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and tugs him down so that he’s resting over his body, a welcome weight against him. “You,” Harry starts, “really like that, don't you?” He cups Louis’ cheek and bumps their noses together.

Louis blushes, inanely, and smiles bashfully. “I dunno. I mean, I never _don’t_ like it, but I guess, yeah. In the morning it gets me off pretty hard.” He ducks his head and kisses Harry’s chin. “Although to be honest, it’s only ever been that bad with you. You come a _lot_ , especially in the morning, love. Fucking hot. Gets me hungry for it, I s’pose.”

Harry blushes now and wraps his other arm around Louis’ shoulders. “Yeah, well,” he mumbles. “You get me off harder than I ever do by myself, so.” He peers up at Louis questioningly. “So when do I get to suck _your_ dick? Didn't I tell you I wanked to that?” He flutters his eyelashes. “More than once, I might add. The whole semester.” 

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis whines. “Don't just say that, fuck. We just came, my dick might drop off if you keep up with that.” He nuzzles against Harry’s cheek. 

“Mm,” Harry agrees. “Can’t have that; I'll never get to suck your dick if it falls off.”

There’s a thump on his shoulder as Louis smacks it playfully. “You're a menace.” Harry bites Louis’ lip in retaliation.

 As sexy as all that come was in the moment, the sensation of it drying all over Harry’s hips and thighs, and the remnants of it on his face, is  _not_ particularly pleasant. He rubs his hands up and down Louis’ back. “Wanna know the only good thing about this shit flat?” Harry says, aiming for casual.

Louis’ tucked his is head into the crook of Harry’s neck, fluffy hair tickling Harry’s jawline. He makes a small noise of acknowledgment but keeps his face buried in Harry’s skin. Harry bites back a dumb smile and pets Louis’ hair. “It's got a small kitchen, small bedrooms, small everything but a pretty big shower. ‘s why Niall picked it out, actually. Good shower, roomy, nice water pressure.”

There’s a muffled scratchy sound and Harry realizes Louis’ giggling, but he’s also patting Harry’s ribcage so he knows it's not spiteful. “Do you wanna shower with me, baby?”

Harry pets the back of Louis’ neck. “To save water, of course.” He kisses Louis’ ear until Louis rolls off of him onto the space next to him.

“Of course,” Louis smiles warmly.

He lets Louis nip off to the bathroom first, to brush his teeth and use the toilet, before following suit and turning on the shower. Louis pokes his head in when he hears the water start. 

Harry is suddenly, inexplicably nervous. He has no idea why. It’s a _shower_  Louis traded his own come into his mouth less than an hour ago. Maybe it’s the intimacy. He doesn't know a whole lot about sex etiquette, if this is something people do four days after the initial hook up. _Sextiquette_ , his brain supplies and he giggles out loud.

“What’s funny?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows bemusedly.

“Nothing, nothing,” Harry says, stripping off his boxers and waiting for Louis to do the same.

Once they've stepped inside and adjusted to the water, Louis turns to him. “Tell me a joke,” he requests, blinking water droplets from his eyelashes. Harry slicks his hair back, thinking he probably looks like a drowned rat right now and offers Louis his vanilla body wash.

“Um,” he says, casting his eyes around as he tries think of a good one. Louis is lathering up the body wash in his palms, the water make it foamy and wonderful. Water. “Alright! Knock knock.”

Louis has started to rub the body wash along his arms and chest and Harry is definitely not staring. “Who’s there?” Louis says good-naturedly, bending down to lather up his legs.

“Uh,” Harry croaks, coughing awkwardly. “Water.” 

Louis has finished covering himself in bubbly suds and grabs Harry’s hips to switch their places so he can stand more directly under the spray. “Water who?” As he says it, he apparently inhales some of the water and sneezes a few times, making a pinched little face and rubbing at his nose with his forearm.

Hopelessly endeared, Harry bites back a smile as he finishes the joke. “Water you waiting for? Kiss me now.” That's not even the original punchline, but Harry figures it's a sign his comedic prowess is enhancing, and also it makes Louis blink fondly at him before stepping over to kiss him.

Kissing someone while water drips down over their faces is interesting, Harry thinks, but not unpleasant. It makes everything slippery and wet and gentle, somehow. He doesn't notice Louis’ managed to retrieve the bottle of body wash until he feels Louis’ hands massaging a cool layer of the soap onto his back. 

Harry jumps. “What,” he starts, and then stops because _fuck_ , was he supposed to do this for Louis? Is this the sextiquette he doesn't know about? “Was I supposed to--”

Louis shakes his head and brings his hands around to Harry’s biceps. “No, baby,” he mumbles. “I just wanted to.” He pets over Harry’s collarbones, humming to himself.

Oh, Christ. He can't believe it. Harry’s _that_ virgin, that stereotype, falls head over heels with the first guy he has sex with--the blushing virgin who can't handle casual sex without ending up stupidly in love. _It’s been less than a week_ , he tells himself desperately. Louis chooses then to kiss the corner of his jaw and sigh happily as he moves his hands to Harry’s abdomen. _Fuck_ , Harry thinks as strokes over Louis’ wet hair. _Fuck_.

***

So maybe Louis is living in a romantic comedy. It just--it’s 11 o’clock by the time they’ve stepped out of the shower and dried off, and Harry smirks that smirk that isn’t a fucking smirk when Louis’ stomach growls insistently. “Anything you need, Lou?” Harry asks in a saccharine voice.

Louis pouts at him, blushing awkwardly.

“Omelettes. I make good omelettes,” Harry laughs, kissing his cheek before walking out of the bathroom and in the direction of the living area, arse-naked.

“Harry,” Louis calls, amused. “You forgot your pants.”

Harry stops and turns to him. “I don't wear clothes if I can help it,” he explains airily, like he hasn't just knocked the breath out of Louis’ lungs with one sentence. “Does it make you uncomfortable? There's clean boxers in my room, for you. I'll get dressed if you want.” Harry scratches his ankle with his toe, the picture of ease as he stands there naked as the day he was born.

“N-no,” Louis stammers, voice higher than he’d like to admit. “I'll um. Meet you in the kitchen, yeah?”

Harry beams happily and nearly skips off to the living area. Louis makes quick work of tracking down the boxers and sees his phone sitting alone on the nightstand. He turns the screen on and sees two notifications from “Leem Dumb Roomie”. He sighs and swipes it open.

_Leem Dumb Roomie, 11:47pm: ud betr not b dead_

_Leem Dumb Roomie, 12:03am: we hav rnt due on Mon. and im not tkng death as a xcuse for nt payign ur haf xx_

Louis rolls his eyes and taps out a response. _I’m with a pretty boy, leave me alone._ As an afterthought he sends a second text. _You'd cry yourself silly if I died. I'm the silver lining in your life xx._

He drops his phone onto the bed and wanders out to the kitchen where Harry is _bent over_ . Like, he's folded over at the waist, leaning down; he’s really _bent over._  He’s pulling out a pan from the lower cabinet. While _bent over_ . Louis blinks and wonders if this is a reward or a punishment for something he's done in a past life. On anyone else it might be unattractive, bending over like that while naked and _not_ sexually engaged. But Harry is incredibly fit and it only accentuates just _how_ fit Harry is.

Louis clears his throat and Harry jumps up, narrowly avoiding bumping his head on the counter’s edge. “Lou!” He says brightly. “Sorry ‘m getting a late start, I realized your clothes were, uh. Not clean.” He coughs, flushing. “So I put them in the washing machine for you.”

Louis gapes at Harry; he's so incredibly sweet Louis’ not entirely convinced he’s not actually made of sugar. He opens his mouth, meaning to say thank you, like a normal person but instead he says, “You have a washing machine?” And then actually smacks a hand to his mouth before dropping it to say, “Shit, no. I mean, um. Thank you, love. You're too sweet.”

Harry laughs, probably actually at him, but smiles shyly nonetheless. “Nah, it's this like, novelty thing Niall bought on Amazon when we moved in. Looks as big as a mini fridge, actually. He impulse buys shit a lot,” Harry explains. “It only takes a few items at a time and you have to air dry everything, but it’s convenient sometimes. He keeps it in his room,” Harry rolls his eyes. “Anyway, what d’you like in your omelettes?”

And so Harry makes them omelettes, arse out and chocolate-brown curls still damp from their shower. Louis rambles on pointlessly, mostly to distract himself from the hysterical mantra running through his mind of _I love him, I love him, I love him_. He’s absolutely living in a romantic comedy.

They eat their (bloody fucking amazing) breakfast on the couch, which is lumpy and sagging in the middle. Harry cuddles up to Louis’ side and allows Louis to feed him the last few bits from his fingers, licking away remnants of salt and pepper daintily. Louis sets their plates on the floor in front of them. He kisses Harry slowly after, not even minding the lingering taste of garlic and chives on his breath.

Harry stares at him with large glassy eyes once he pulls away, cheeks just a hint of pink. “You _are_ very pretty,” Louis observes, tugging Harry into his lap.

“Thanks,” Harry smirks, and it looks truly smug this time. “I'm glad I've got your stamp of approval. Especially since we've been fucking, I’d hope you’d think I was pretty. Might be kind of messed up if you didn’t.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You know I didn't mean it like that, smartass.” He brings his hand down to cup the soft swell of Harry’s bum. Harry shivers slightly but neither of them make a move to go any further, content with the closeness.

“It’s Sunday,” Harry remarks suddenly.

“So I didn't fuck all your brains out,” Louis replies. “Can still remember what day it is. I'll have to try harder next time.”

Harry makes a soft little noise, somewhere between exasperation and arousal. “No,” he whines, petulantly, bumping their noses together. “Tomorrow’s _Monday_. We have to go beg mercy about the stats exam on Tuesday, remember? We have a _class_ to try to pass.”

Well, fuck. Harry’s right and he’s suddenly, acutely, painstakingly aware of the situation. God, it's been _five days_ since he first spoke properly to Harry, just an impromptu knock knock joke about a broken fucking pencil. It's been _three_ since he held an actual conversation with Harry, since he'd even seen Harry outside of uni. Because they're uni students; uni students who’ve sat next to each other in stats all semester, as strangers. _Fuck._  

The thing is, if it were just casual fucking Louis wouldn’t be panicking right now. He's a young, active 20-something, going to university, and he's got a decent sex drive. Casual sex is normal, if that's what someone likes. It’s not strange to see a fit person around campus and end up in bed with them a few times. Whatever. That's fine; he's had a one stand here and there himself. But, like. Harry’s here in his lap; he smells like vanilla body wash and fresh omelettes and clean, warm skin. He’s humming softly to himself, playing mindlessly with Louis’ hair, completely unaware of the crisis Louis’ going through. Harry’s...special, just like he’d said last night; Harry’s smart and funny and sweet and fit and the sex is amazing and he's so thoughtful and endearingly genuine, open, trusting, _wonderful_.

Harry is exquisite and Louis wants to _keep him_. It's been five days and Louis for the life of him can't remember what it felt like not to know how Harry tastes, how Harry talks with his hands flying everywhere, how Harry likes his hot cocoa, how Harry whimpers when he comes, how Harry gives Louis so much and takes so little. He thinks it must have felt pretty shitty not knowing that.

“Harry,” Louis says, quietly but seriously. “Look at me.” His tone of voice must startle Harry because he pulls back enough to look at Louis directly, the green of his eyes concerned. “I--I know I'm the one that's supposed to be all on about this, about the sex,” he starts, licking his lips nervously. “And I am, you know, relatively speaking. I wouldn't lie to you about that. I've got experience with sex; I can tell you about fucking, where everything goes and what feels best and I can tell you it’s okay to moan and come too fast.”

Harry blinks at him, looking a little apprehensive now. “Okay…” He says slowly.

Louis brings up a shaky hand to push Harry’s curls back, before resting it on that back of Harry’s neck. “I can give you answers about the sex, love. I--I can be in charge, as it were. I can be the one with the answers for you, the one who knows how things go so you don't feel confused or lost during sex.” Louis huffs out a breath. “But I can't be the one in charge about--about _this_ ,” he murmurs, gesturing between them and feeling foolish.

There's a choked little sound from Harry and then he tries to move from Louis’ lap. “Right--right, of course not--” He’s stammering, pulling away.

“No,” Louis says, alarmed. He tugs Harry close again. “That's not what I meant. I meant--I meant I can't just decide the answers about what we both want. This isn't something like sex, where you practice a bit and then you go off and it’s second nature. Here, we’re both in charge; it doesn't matter that you're a virgin, this part, I can't call the shots, baby. Because if you let me choose, let me make the decisions, I might ask for more than you want; for--for more than a few dates and some sex. And I can't just take that like it’s mine already, Harry.”

Louis’ heart is racing like he’s just run a marathon and he has to consciously keep from squeezing Harry’s narrow waist too hard. He looks intently at the corner of Harry’s mouth, too terrified to meet his eyes.

“So--So what do you want?” Harry asks, very slowly.

Louis closes his eyes. What the fuck, why does this feel so terrifying? He’s just--asking to date Harry, really. He's done this before. Why does this time feel so dramatic and important? _Because you’ve nearly told him you love him every time you try to speak for the past two days_ , his mind offers very unhelpfully. “Harry,” Louis says, eyes still closed. “This is entirely fucking new to me, alright. We've been doing this for less than a week and if I'm being honest all I can think about is how badly I want to make you smile, all the time. That's so bloody cheesy and--and I can't help it.” He opens his eyes and stares forcefully at Harry’s collarbones.

“You could tell me you've changed your mind; that, I dunno, you're actually saving yourself for marriage or summat,” Louis continues and Harry snorts quietly; Louis wants to kiss him forever, “and I'd still want to see you every day, take you on--on the fucking most painfully cliche dates, and bring you home to me family, I swear to God. You could take sex out the equation permanently and I'd beg you to never leave me anyway.

“Maybe I'm fucking high; I _know_ it's been five bloody days and maybe I sound right creepy and you'll make me walk back to my flat and refuse to sit next to me in stats. I know that. I'm just. I can't make the decision about how we _feel_ ,” Louis cannot believe he's saying this shit, “by meself because I want too much. I want--I want to _keep you_ ,” he finishes, mouth dry.

There's a moment of silence; he listens to Harry’s breathing, which is quicker and shallower than usual. His own heart is pounding against his chest, as he waits for a response.

“I--,” Harry starts, _finally_ , his voice deeper than Louis’ ever heard it. He goes quiet again for a minute. “What if I want you to keep me?”

Louis heart speeds up and he feels his hands tighten too much around Harry’s waist. “Yeah?”

Harry leans closer, tucking two fingers under his chin and nudging up until Louis looks at his face, at his wide earnest eyes. “I've been losing my fucking mind,” Harry admits. “The past two days, thinking I've gone and gotten myself attached like a stereotypical loser,” he chuckles. “Not knowing how casual it was for you, if I was dumb for feeling this way. Losing my fucking mind…”

Harry tucks his face into the crook of Louis’ neck. “So,” he murmurs. “What if I want you to keep me? And I want to keep you?”

It’s unbelievable, impossible, how Louis could swear he’s flying right now. Harry is so warm and soft, and he's here, offering himself for Louis to _take_ , to _keep_. “Well,” Louis says, voice strained. “I guess we’d better decide whether the bar and grill was our first date in this relationship, or if it's the astronomy tower I'm going to take you to as soon as possible. And then I'm going to ask you to meet my family because I don't fucking care how soon it is.” 

Harry laughs wetly into his neck before pulling back to smirk (to _smile_ , so gently) at Louis. “I guess so,” he agrees. “And we’ll have to decide if we’re going to tell everyone our real how-we-met story because knock knock jokes that possibly get us booted out of stats isn't the most charming of stories.”

Affronted, Louis flicks Harry’s ear gently. “Excuse you,” Louis protests. “I will not stand for this blatant disrespect of your comedic genius. Also, depending on my mood I can definitely twist it to make fun of you, and you do blush very prettily, so really it’s a win-win-win for me." 

On cue, a rosy flush works its way across Harry’s cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. “Yeah,” Louis says. “That’s the one.”

Harry squirms on his lap. “Uh, I know we've just exchanged some gorgeous words about things we want outside of sex, and I totally meant it all,” Harry says, eyes pleading. “But like, the sex really is amazing and I'm a horny 20-year-old and is it wrong that I'm fucking hard right now?” His eyes are glassy and he looks downright ashamed.

Louis drops his eyes down to Harry’s blessedly naked lap and well. He definitely is. “Jesus,” Louis breathes. “It is _so_ not wrong,” he assures Harry, his own cock perking up painfully quickly. “What do you want, kitten?”

Harry’s breath catches and his hand makes an aborted movement, as if to wrap around his own dick. “Anything,” he whispers, nipples peaked temptingly.

“Baby,” Louis tsks. “Come on, just a little something. There's got to be something floating around in your mind. Give me just a tiny bit to work with, I promise I'll make it good.”

There's a pause and then Harry is-- _distressingly_ \--slipping off his lap, Louis has opened his mouth to protest when he realizes Harry is situating himself on his knees and nudging Louis’ legs apart. He leans in and rests his cheek on Louis’ thigh, large hand coming forward to cup Louis’ now hard cock through his boxers. “Please,” Harry whines, mouthing along Louis’ inner thigh. “I want it so--so bad. _Please_.”

Louis can't imagine saying no to that for anything. “Fuck, yeah,” he manages, running his hands frantically through Harry’s hair. “You can have it.”

Harry moans, his tone _grateful_ , and he presses in closer, body quivering. “I'm close,” Harry says, quickly under his breath as he works the waistband of Louis’ boxers down his knees. It's so fast and fervent, Louis nearly misses it.

“What?” Louis grits out, as Harry starts to ghost his mouth along his thighs and pelvis. “Did you say--”

“I’m close,” Harry whimpers. “I--I might come. From this,” he confesses. He looks up at Louis with huge, round eyes. “I’m gonna come from this,” he tells Louis, before ducking down and carefully wrapping one hand around the base of Louis’ cock and drawing the head into his mouth.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ,_ ” Louis hisses, the soft slick heat like heaven on his dick. It’s--it’s like. He's had blowjobs before, obviously, but the wet suction of Harry’s mouth, enveloping just the first bit of his cock, is enough to make him forget any other mouths he’s had before. “Harry,” he moans, shaking.

Harry’s eyelashes flutter and he looks up at Louis with eyes blown out like he's high. He pulls off, just barely, drags his slack mouth down the length of Louis’ cock. “Y’can grab me and show me how t’do it,” Harry offers, sounding like he's high, too. 

Louis’ hips twitch. “S-Sorry?” He stammers out. Harry is entirely too beautiful, body slumped against the edge of the cushion, so that's he's more leaning his torso onto the couch than kneeling separately on the floor. He looks blitzed, his entire body shining with a light sheen of sweat, and rosy pink. His hair is damp and messy, a few wayward curls clinging to his sweaty forehead. Harry’s cheeks are a deep, blotchy red and he’s mouthing at the base of Louis’ cock, at his balls, like there's no better place in the world. How Louis managed to get here, with this boy, he'll never know.

“Show me how t’do it,” Harry repeats. “Move me how y’like it best. ‘’m a fast learner, I promise.” He tugs Louis’ hand up to his hair. “Please." 

Oh, God. He’s--Harry’s actually asking for this; he tucks his plush lips over the tip of Louis’ cock and waits until he moans impatiently like Louis is _denying_ him something. “Fuck,” Louis says, feeling out of control. “Kitten.” Hesitantly, he presses down on Harry until he’s basically pushing Harry’s mouth onto his cock. Shit.

Before he can process how fucking dirty that feels, like he’s just _using_ Harry, there's a vibrating sensation around his cock accompanied by the most desperate sound he’s yet to hear Harry make. Harry’s eyes keep rolling back against his will and he’s going more and more boneless by the second. Without thinking, Louis tugs Harry back up his cock and then down again, stomach jolting when there's a small clicking sound from the back of Harry’s throat. Harry makes that pretty sound again, though, so Louis pushes him further and then pulls him back up quickly.

“That’s--that’s so good, sweetheart,” Louis says in a high and breathy voice. “Sucking me so good. Wanna--wanna try your--tongue?” Louis suggests, though, really he doesn't need it, just the slow slide of Harry’s mouth is enough. Harry asked for him to teach him, though, and Louis’ newest goal in life is to give Harry whatever he wants.

Harry affirms Louis’ efforts by grappling at Louis’ thigh desperately and making a small _mhm_ sound around his cock. There's a pause as Harry purposefully stops his movements--Louis drops his hand from Harry’s hair--and then the twist of his tongue as manages to slide it along the underside of Louis’ cock even with his lips wrapped firmly around it.

“ _Fucking_ ,” Louis gasps. Because fucking hell, Harry is--it’s too good, it’s unreal.

Evidently spurred on by Louis’ praise, Harry starts up a clumsy rhythm, the concentration of working his tongue and lips without slipping his teeth too much for Harry to maintain much else besides silky, hot suction. Louis could not care less about a fucking rhythm. “Oh, oh, oh,” he hears himself moaning, high-pitched and probably sounding like a dumbass. He cannot stop himself. “Harry, kitten, that's so fucking good, you're such a good--,” Harry sinks down nearly all the way, “--such a _good boy_ ,” Louis says without thinking. 

Abruptly, Harry’s mouth is gone and before Louis can panic that something’s wrong, Harry’s turning his face into Louis’ thigh, just above his knee, and _keening_. “Oh, _fuck_.” He sounds absolutely destroyed. “I’m coming, oh my god, oh--” He falls silent and his hands ( _both_ his hands, there’s nothing on his cock, fuck) drag down Louis’ thighs in angry red lines.

The side of Harry’s face is visible and Louis can see the tight furrow his brow, the way his eyes are rolling back, and his mouth is parted, slick and still drooling slightly from sucking Louis. His body starts to spasm, each clench of his orgasm apparently seizing every muscle in his body. He’s silent, not a single sound coming from his throat. A single tear leaks from the corner of his eye, trailing down his cheek and Louis automatically reaches a thumb out to catch it. At Louis’ touch, Harry lets out a high, reedy wail and gasps frantically in quick succession before sagging against Louis heavily.

It is the hottest thing Louis has ever seen, unbearably hot, actually. His skin feels too tight, hypersensitive and he needs to get off like, yesterday. Before he can do anything himself, Harry’s sleepily moving his mouth back over Louis cock, humming happily. He’s so relaxed he slips Louis’ entire dick--which is not a shabby length, objectively speaking--into his mouth in one glorious movement.

“ _Baby_ ,” Louis moans helplessly, bucking his hips once before he finally, finally comes, without giving Harry any warning. He's coming so _hard_ he can't bring himself to care much, but registers Harry slipping off his cock and tilting his head so that he spurts the rest of his orgasm onto Harry’s cheeks, chin, and neck. 

Harry mewls like he’s reached absolute Nirvana, rubbing his palm across Louis’ thigh until he’s finished, and then brings his fingers up to nudge gently against the very base of Louis’ cock, bumping against his balls as he does so. Louis lurches forward, entirely too oversensitive, but a tiny bit of come blurts out of his cock and slides down the head before Harry sticks his tongue out to lap it up sweetly. Even the soft rasp of his tongue feels like fire on the frayed nerves there, so the second Harry’s licked up all of it and gently tugs Harry back against his thigh.

“Harry,” he tries to say, but it comes out as a wheezy groan. He pets through Harry’s hair gently instead.

“S’md’ay ‘’m g’nna get two loads on m’face,” Harry slurs out, tentatively touching his fingertips to the mess on his cheeks. “G’nna be dripping with’t, yeah,” he sighs dreamily.

Harry has this uncanny ability to say this sort of life-altering shit right after orgasm and Louis’ dick can’t handle it. He lets out a hurt moan and squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, God, please, shh.”

Harry murmurs something unintelligible and they fall quiet again, recovering slowly. Finally, Harry speaks up again, sounding more lucid. “Dammit, Niall is gonna kill me, I got came all over the couch.” He whines. “Gonna need another shower, too, fuck, I'm covered in it.” He sounds disgruntled but this information is _very_ interesting to Louis.

“That much? Even after this morning?” Louis perks up, sitting up straight and displacing Harry’s head from its place on his lap, which is met with a noise of protest. “God, let me see,” he pleads.

Harry looks at him amusedly, but leans back against the coffee table to stretch out the expanse of his long torso for Louis to examine. “Fuck,” Louis breathes wonderingly. It’s _everywhere_ , globs and streaks of it so thick it’s not even dry yet, the shift of Harry’s body making it slide in place slowly.

There’s lines of it on Harry’s thighs, his hips and pelvis, sticking to his softened cock. There’s _puddles_ of all along his abdomen, bits of it clinging to _both_ of Harry’s main nipples. But the most of it is collected along Harry’s collarbones and in the hollow of his throat, pools of it still dripping slowly downwards, thick in a way that Louis can only imagine felt fucking phenomenal spurting up from Harry’s cock. It occurs to Louis that this means Harry shot so high for so long it hit that spot over and over and over and--

“I just took a shower, too,” Harry says conversationally, unfazed by what Louis considers to be a fucking eighth wonder of the world. He looks around lazily, stretching his arms and making the mess of come shift even more. “Ah, damn,” Harry frowns. “Look at that, got on my arms too.”

Louis thinks he probably resembles a classic cartoon with its eyes popping out in shock. “What?”

Harry points vaguely to his bicep. “Got come on my arm.”

That is _it_. Louis cannot contain himself and moves forward to look, but Harry stops him. “Careful! Front of the couch in between your legs, that's where a lot of it went.” Louis feels near tears.

Louis lets out a strangled noise and carefully maneuvers himself off the couch, mindful of all the fucking come and then sits himself down next to Harry, still gorgeously on display, lax and smiling cluelessly. “If I’d gotten a hand around myself, I probably would haven't come all other the place like that, but I definitely would have come _more_ , like there'd be more of it. Didn't exactly have time though, yeah?”

Biting back an actual scream, Louis inspects more closely the mess Harry’s made. _God_ , it’s even thicker than he originally saw: opaque creamy white, still fucking wet and when he touches it tentatively, it isn't warm but it’s not yet cooled off the way he’d expect it to have by now. “Fuck,” he says. If he hadn't see shit like this in porn he wouldn't believe this was humanly possible, and even then like…that's porn and this real life. Louis' life.

There’s a few thinner streaks of it on Harry’s bicep and the soft skin of his underarm. His torso is incredible, globs and puddles of it clinging everywhere, so creamy and wet. “Oh my god,” Louis murmurs. He suddenly remembers the fucking _couch_ and turns his head and--shit. The front of the couch below the cushion he was sat on it decidedly _ruined_. There's a more concentrated spot of it where Harry must have come after he stopped shooting so high up. Obviously though, the come didn't get thinner as it went on. It’s a messy, thick, white puddle, sliding down the cheap fabric slowly, drying out bit by bit. God, there’s so fucking much. 

He turns back to Harry who’s staring at him with raised eyebrows. He’s still got Louis’ come on his chin and cheeks, but that's drying up already. Louis bites his lip and looks down at Harry’s body one more time; he doesn't really want to ruin the _art_ but--he can't stop himself from reach a hand out to the hollow of his throat and dragging into straight down Harry’s body, bypassing his sensitive cock and stopping in a glob of it on Harry’s thigh. He shudders; all that come and it’s so. Fucking. Thick.

“You’re _magic_ ,” Louis declares. “Have you ever gone without a wank for a while, see how much you come once you finally get off?”

Harry lets out a breathy half-chuckle. “No? I mean, yeah, this is a bit on the bigger side I guess, but it's not like it's unusual, right? I mean, for me it’s not.” He looks doubtful. “Is it? Weird?”

Louis removes his fingertips from the spot of come on Harry’s thigh, tracing it over Harry’s knee cap and watching the way it glistens as he smear it into the skin. “No!” Louis assures him. “God, no. It's not _weird_. You come more than most blokes I've seen in porn even and that's like. A selling point for most porn stars, you know? You could run half of them out a job, to be honest. Fucking hot.”

“Ah,” Harry says awkwardly. “I don't--don't really watch porn, so--so I didn't have much to measure my loads by, I guess,” he laughs nervously. 

Louis raises his eyebrows at him. He’s not judging Harry, it's just surprising.

“I tried!” Harry insists. “I don't have anything _against_ it, it’s just that the acting is so bad,” Louis starts laughing helplessly, but Harry continues, “it’s a boner-killer, and amateur porn is alright but I always feel like I'm _intruding_ , and I get off more on the idea of being _watched_ than doing the watching, you know.”

Louis quiets down his laughter if only because that last part caught his attention. “Really?” He flirts. “You wanna be watched?" 

Harry flushes. “I--I mean, um. I dunno, sometimes I get off thinking about--about doing it somewhere people might see, you know. Like the _threat_ of being seen gets me off, or being caught maybe, I guess. Not like, actually performing for people, or having sex with someone on a stage, or something. I dunno,” he finishes, clearing his throat.

It occurs to Louis that with just his own hand, and apparently just his own imagination, Harry’s likely come up with some very detailed fantasies over the years. It’s...quite a visual, Harry lying in his bed and fucking his fist to thoughts of filthy kinks and desires, until he finishes with one of his spectacularly messy orgasms. “So if I made you get on your knees for me in a bathroom stall at a nice restaurant, would that get you off?” He asks mildly. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry hisses. “Yes, fuck.”

Louis makes a small sound in the back of his throat. “Might be something I could do,” he murmurs, trying to pretend like he’s still calm and collected and not concerned that his dick might have miraculously retained the refractory period of a 16 year old. “What else do you get yourself off to?”

Harry shrugs. “I dunno. A lot?” He smiles ruefully at Louis. “Is that weird?”

“Babe,” Louis says. “It's pretty hard to wank weirdly. I'm asking because I want to know how much of what you get off to I can actually give you.”

“Oh,” Harry says, all big eyes and breathy voice. “Sometimes I get off so hard it hits my chin, my mouth. Over my shoulder. I could...tell you want I think about then, if you want?”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. “Yes, yeah. Please do,” Louis says, maybe a little too quickly. “You're so fucking fit,” Louis says, helplessly. “I-I want to see that. Would you ever show me?”

“Wank for you?” Harry asks, sounding surprised.

“Only if you want,” Louis assures him, biting his lip.

Harry smiles at him suddenly, a smug and teasing edge to it that truly is a smirk. “But _you_ want,” he observes, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Shower with me, and I'll think about it,” he declares pompously. 

They _are_ very sticky and more than a little disgusting now, Louis notes. “You'll think about it?” Louis asks, rising to his feet and offering his hand to Harry and pulling him up.

“Mm,” Harry says, padding them over towards the bathroom. “If you wash my back for me maybe I'll wank for you when I haven't got off for a few days--so you can see how much there is.” There's a knowing lilt to his voice that makes Louis want to plaster himself to Harry’s body and never let go. “And maybe you can let me get you off at that astronomy tower on that date you were talking about.”

“Baby,” Louis says seriously. “If I'm keeping you, I'll let you get me off in public on as many dates as you want.” He considers. “Except for if we’re with family.”

Harry has walked them into the bathroom and he pauses where he’s got his hand on the shower handle. “You--you really want me to meet your family, then? You meant that?” He sounds disbelieving and very sweet.

“Of course I did. I want you to meet all my friends and family,” Louis tells him, nudging his hip so that Harry switches the water on. “Except for Liam, but only because I care about you and want to spare you. 

Harry giggles throughout the whole shower. Louis never wants to listen to anything else. Fuck. He’s seen romantic comedies that are actually less romantically comedic than his life right now. He doesn't particularly care. 

***

By the time Harry takes Louis back to his own flat, the sky is the a delicate, muted blue that is fast turning to night, a few stars beginning to blink down at the them. After their second shower, Harry’d remarked that Louis’ clothes needed to air dry, though earlier he’d explained that in a hurry he often used a hair dryer to speed up the process. It was a transparent excuse for extend their time together and Harry had offered it unashamedly.

The extra hours were spent naked in bed--without a hint of sex the whole time; instead they played honest-to-God Scrabble, munched on popcorn and watched Captain America (both of them professing a deep love for Bucky) on Harry’s laptop, compared tattoos, regaled childhood stories, traded lazy kisses. Eventually though, Niall had texted him telling him he was on his way back to the flat, and then Louis’ own flat mate was pinging up Louis’ phone incessantly. It was time, then, for Louis to pull on his still vaguely damp clothes and collect his phone and wallet, and for Harry to drive him home.  

“Good night,” Harry says for the third time, laughing. They're stopped outside Louis’ flat, and each time they try to say good night, one of them tugs the other in for a kiss that overextends itself into distraction.

Even now, Louis has grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in for a soft, lingering kiss; tilting his head this way and that to change the angle. “Okay,” Louis is mumbling into the kiss. “Good night.”

Harry giggles, teeth bumping into Louis’ lips, who doesn't seem bothered, thumb now rubbing small circles onto the hinge of Harry’s jaw. Louis starts to lean back and Harry follows him, mouth refusing to leave Louis’. 

“Baby,” Louis breathes, tucking Harry’s hair behind his ear and gently, gently pushing him away, just enough to disrupt the kiss. “I’m seeing you Tuesday, yeah? Face our verdict together?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, fighting the urge to kiss Louis again. “I'll see you there.”

“Okay,” Louis repeats himself, opening the door on his side. “I’m actually going now,” he says, with a lovely smile on his face. He reaches out to push Harry’s hair back, which is loose and all over without a scarf tying it up. “You are sweet.”

Harry ducks his head. “Louis,” he says.

“If I kiss you right now,” Louis tells him, “I'm not going to stop, so I won't. But just know that I really, really want to.” He steps fully out of the car. “Text me when you get home safe, yeah?”

“Alright, mum,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Don’t call me your mum,” Louis laughs. “I sucked your dick this morning.” He shuts the door as Harry begins to burst into snorts of laughter. Louis starts to walk away, stepping carefully backwards so he can see Harry roll down the car window.

“Knock knock!” Harry calls, pink in the face.

Louis bites down a dumb grin. “Who’s there?” He slows down and stops, a few feet away from the shrubs where he left Sushi the day before.

“Harry,” Harry says, eyes sparkling visibly even from this distance.

Wrapping his arms around himself against the chill Louis replies, with genuine eagerness, “Harry who?”

“Harry up, it’s cold outside!” The dimples following the punchline are almost too much for Louis to handle. Harry looks incredibly pleased with himself and Louis kind of wants to hop back in the car and fuck him into the passenger’s seat.

Instead, he throws his head back, laughs, and blows Harry a kiss. “Very clever, kitten. I’ll see you Tuesday. And text me!” This time he forces himself to turn around and half-jogs up to his flat door, fishing out his keys and unlocking it. There’s the sound of Harry driving away as he steps inside.

“Liam!” He calls, toeing off his shoes. “D’you wanna hear some good knock knock jokes?”

  
\--

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I know it's incredibly sappy and cliched, and it's yet another college AU but if you did like it kudos and comments mean the absolute world to me.


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